


Holly at Hogwarts -- Return to Neverland

by Forest_of_Holly



Series: Holly at Hogwarts [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 185,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forest_of_Holly/pseuds/Forest_of_Holly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While the Wycliffs seek a new boarding school for Holly, Dillon decides to re-visit his family home on Privet Drive with disastrous results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amanda Alice](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Amanda+Alice).



          The unmistakable coughing sounds of someone vomiting echoed throughout the bathroom. “Holly?” called Laurel Wycliff peering in the tiled room.  “Holly, baby?  Are you all right?”  Then came the sound of the toilet flushing.  Laurel followed the sound to an open stall and found Holly kneeling over the toilet.  Her long blonde hair hid her face. Holly brushed the strands away from one side and wiped her mouth with a tissue. “Holly?” Laurel repeated softly kneeling down next to her.  “Are you O.K?”  
          Holly tossed the tissue into the toilet, turned her head and looked at Laurel.  Her cheeks were shiny and wet, streaked with tears.  “I tried, mum, really, I did,” Holly said.  She wiped her face with her sleeve. “But when that waitress came out with that steak for the person behind us and I caught the smell as she passed by,” she continued, “I had this sudden flash of the crash and those charred bodies—my stomach got all queasy and I just couldn’t bear it!”   
          Holly leaned into Laurel and Laurel wrapped her arms around Holly in a tight hug.  “I know, dear,” said Laurel soothingly.  “It’s O.K., baby; we understand…”  Holly had become a vegetarian recently and had a difficult time standing the smell of freshly cooked meat.  Normally, the family would have taken that into consideration when selecting an eating establishment but it had been late and it was the only place still open in the village.  Everyone was tired and hungry and no one wanted to continue driving to look for someplace else.   
          Holly looked up at Laurel, her green eyes brimming with tears, “Please,” she begged, “can’t I just wait in the car until you’re done?  Order me something safe, like a salad, have them wrap it and I’ll eat later—I don’t mind waiting, really!”  
          “Of course,” said Laurel reassuringly releasing Holly.  “We can do that. You wait here until I come back with the car keys.  Holly sat down on the cold tile floor next to the toilet; she leaned her back against the stall wall and hugged her knees tightly burying her face in her lap.  Laurel stood and walked out of the stall.   
          A few months ago Holly had helped on a rescue mission at an airplane crash site.  The events of that day still haunted her.  Holly had become a vegetarian in an effort to cope with the experience.  The scent and sometimes just the sight of any cooked meat reminded Holly of the dead burned bodies she had seen and could make her violently ill.  
          “How is she?” asked her husband Dillon with concern when Laurel reached their table. He and their son Vernon were still seated and had been studying their menus in her absence.  The family had barely sat down at their table when Holly had suddenly bolted for the restroom.  
          “She’s fine,” replied Laurel reaching for her purse, “but she’s going to wait outside in the car until we’re finished.” Dillon nodded.  Laurel fished out her keys and then glanced quickly at the menu.  “I’m going to unlock the car for her,” she announced.  “If the waiter comes back before that just order the steak and kidney pie for me (might as well have some proper meat while Holly wasn’t around) and a salad for take-out…”   
          “Will do,” replied Dillon.  
          Laurel returned to the bathroom.  She found Holly by the sink.  Holly’s face and hands were still wet having been freshly cleaned and her hair was neatly pulled back.  The two walked outside to their car.  Holly’s gray cat, Sasha, greeted her happily.  The cat immediately curled up in Holly’s lap while purring loudly once Holly got seated.  Holly stroked the cat absently while staring vacantly out the window.  Laurel sighed as she walked back into the café.  She heartily wished the parenting books she had read covered situations like this.  She didn’t like leaving Holly alone but what else could she do?  It wasn’t like Holly could sit with them in the café and the loo was no place to wait.  
           Laurel sat down next to Dillon and across from Vernon.  They had already placed their order.  When it arrived, Laurel noted they had both chosen a steak, something they would not have done around Holly.  Laurel ate quickly, almost guiltily, knowing Holly was waiting in the car.   
          As soon as she had finished, Laurel took the packaged salad and returned to the car leaving Dillon to take care of the bill.  Holly took the salad silently nodding her thanks and absently picked at the food still clearly upset by what had happened.  Soon after Dillon and Vernon returned to the car.  They silently got in.  Dillon started the engine and they all continued on their way.

*********************

          The family had been on the road for three days traveling around Great Britain looking at schools.  Dillon didn’t like that Holly had become a vegetarian but had promised to not argue about it.  He also told his parents that he could not abide by any school that permitted its students to become vegetarian and had decided to transfer Holly to someplace else.  Dillon’s parents, Violet and Vincent Wycliff, who regularly enjoyed roast beef, pork chops and fried chicken, readily agreed even offering to help cover the expenses of the transfer.  Dillon refused their offer of help preferring to do that part on his own.  
          Of course, Holly becoming a vegetarian was just the excuse Dillon gave to his parents.  Dillon actually wanted Holly out of _that_ _school_ long before she had become a vegetarian.  The school in question was called _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_.   
          Two years ago Holly had become deathly ill. In desperation, Dillon had sought help from a cousin Laurel had never known existed.  The cousin, named Harry Potter, found a doctor who cured Holly. Then Harry told Laurel and Dillon that Holly was something called an Empath.  Empaths could feel emotions and Cousin Harry said the best place to train someone with that kind of skill was at Hogwarts.  Harry Potter had apparently attended Hogwarts.  He claimed to be a wizard of some sort though he didn’t look like one. In fact, he looked rather ordinary in that plain gray suit he always wore.   
          Laurel had never taken much stock in stories of the paranormal—she’d read too many accounts of the “tricks of the trade” to believe in that stuff.  She thought Dillon had felt the same.  Laurel found it astounding to discover that Dillon, deep down, believed in magic.  Despite the stories she’d heard from Holly and the few bits of “magic” she had seen for herself, Laurel still felt there was some sort of scientific explanation for what Harry and Holly claimed to practice—she just didn’t know what it was.   
          Holly had attended Hogwarts for the last two years and Laurel had to admit Holly never looked better.  But Dillon had deep misgivings about the school and its people; he would not rest easy until Holly was attending somewhere else.  Dillon had informed Harry of his decision when the family met at the station to pick up Holly at the beginning of summer vacation.  
          The encounter had actually gone rather smoothly.  That part was Laurel’s contribution.   She realized she could never change Dillon’s mind about removing Holly from Hogwarts but she could change the method.  Last year, Dillon had been adamant Holly never return to Hogwarts and exceedingly rude about the situation.  Laurel was equally adamant that such a scene would not be repeated.   
          “I know you don’t like him!” she told Dillon, “but this is _not_ his fault!  This is not _that school’s_ fault! (Dillon hated even the name “Hogwarts.”)  It’s _nobody’s_ fault!  You just don’t want her there!  I don’t know what kind of a childhood you two had together,” Laurel continued, “and I don’t care!  **GET OVER IT!**  That man has watched out for Holly for two years and has never done anything but treat us—even you—with the utmost courtesy and respect!  I expect you to do the same!   If he can do it then so can you!  You are both adults now and I expect you to act accordingly!   
          Furthermore,” Laurel added threateningly, “no matter how much you hate each other, you two are still family and you _will not_ burn any bridges over this!”  That’s what Dillon had tried to do last year.  It failed dismally because Holly wanted to return to Hogwarts so bad she practically forced Dillon to agree.  As Dillon would have nothing to do with the place, Harry Potter was the one who had to make all the arrangements for her to attend Hogwarts.  
          And just in case Dillon didn’t take her seriously, Laurel had added, “And if you are anything but courteous to your cousin while at the station, the next time I see your parents I will mention to them how we had lunch with somebody named _Harry Potter_ during Christmas vacation!”   
          Dillon positively paled at her words.  “You wouldn’t!” he protested weakly.  Dillon’s parents didn’t know he had contacted Harry Potter or that Holly had been attending Hogwarts.  Dillon spent the last two years trying to keep that information from them—he even named Harry as Holly’s legal guardian while at _that school_ to insure his parents would find no stray letters from Hogwarts.  They apparently hated Harry Potter and Hogwarts even more than Dillon did.   
          “I would!” countered Laurel firmly.  “Besides,” she insisted, “it’s the truth!”  Laurel and Dillon _had_ shared a meal with Harry after a huge snowstorm, but it had been anything but a social visit.  Holly had gotten herself into a bit of trouble and they were trying to straighten it out.  No doubt that last threat did the trick.  Dillon was clearly more afraid of what his parents would do should they find out about Harry than of talking civilly to his cousin.  For weeks afterwards, Laurel woke in the middle of the night to the sound of Dillon pacing in the living room, practicing what he would say.

*********************

          “Uh, Harry,” said Dillon rather uncomfortably after polite greetings had been exchanged at the station, “I, ah, I’ve decided Holly won’t be returning next year.”   
          Cousin Harry’s tall slender frame seemed to relax a fraction before he spoke.  “Yeah,” he said finally with a heavy sigh, “I kind of figured that.  What school do you what the transcripts to say?”  
          “I, uh,” began Dillon uncertainly, he hadn’t gotten past the notification part in his practicing anticipating more of an argument from Harry.  “Puddinghampton, I guess,” he finally replied.  That was the school Holly had attended before Hogwarts.  
          Harry nodded.  “I’ll get on that right away.”  He turned to Holly.  “Remember what we talked about,” he told Holly sternly.  “I expect you to mind your parents about this.”  
          Holly looked steadily at Harry, her green eyes already glistening with tears.  “Yes sir,” she replied in a low voice, with just a touch of a tremor to her lips.  Laurel got the impression the two had already had a long discussion about this; she could tell Holly would make no attempt to return to Hogwarts.   
          “I guess I’d best be going,” said Harry to Dillon.  Dillon lowered his eyes uncomfortably.  Then Harry turned to the rest of the family.  “It’s been a pleasure knowing you, Mrs. Wycliff, Vernon,” he said politely.  “Good-bye, Holly,” he added and turned to leave.  
          “Uh, thanks for everything,” Dillon mumbled suddenly, his words stopping Harry in his tracks.  Harry nodded silently without looking back and then continued on his way vanishing within the crowds.

*********************

          “That wasn’t so bad!” announced Dillon with relief as they returned to the car.  He acted as if the civility of the whole encounter had been his idea and was again his former confident self.   
          “Yes, dear,” murmured Laurel softly.  She suspected facing Cousin Harry had been the easy part.  There was still Holly to deal with.  As much as Dillon hated Hogwarts, he loved his daughter Holly.  Holly hadn’t said a word but she was clearly unhappy about the situation and there was still a new school to select.  
          The family dinner that night was a disaster.  Holly was now a vegetarian.  Laurel knew nothing about vegetarian cooking but had done some research in anticipation of Holly’s return.  Harry had mentioned Holly was partial to Indian curry so Laurel prepared and served what was supposed to be a traditional Indian meal of vegetable curry with rice.  Holly dug in immediately eating without hesitation.  The rest of the family, Laurel included, merely picked at the food unused to the strange spices and flavors.  Suddenly Holly stopped, mid-bite and looked at everyone else intently noting their expressions and uneaten food.  “I’m sorry!” she blurted abruptly and fled the table leaving her own food unfinished.  No one ate much after that.  
          Laurel gave up on serving the same foods to everyone.  The next night she handed Holly the curry leftovers while everyone else enjoyed meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy.  Holly blanched when she saw the meatloaf.  She said nothing but held her head close to the curry with her long blonde hair spread out on either side of her face acting as blinders.  She ate so quickly Laurel was afraid Holly would get indigestion.  Holly finished and left the table before anyone else had scarcely begun.  Laurel then remembered Harry had mentioned it was the smells that affected Holly the most.  
          The next night Laurel gave Holly more leftovers and served the rest of the family cold ham instead.  Holly didn’t eat quite as quickly but she kept her face averted from the rest of the table as she ate.  The pungent odor of the curry soon filled the dining room overpowering the more delicate scent of the cold ham making it a strange meal indeed.  
          Planning meals became a major challenge for Laurel.  Once she found the recipes, Holly pitched in to make her favorite curries.  She was willing to eat almost everything else served as long as the meat wasn’t mixed in.  Holly liked it best if the meat was served cold (less scent) but when the meat was prepared hot she refused to even sit at the dinner table unless she had a curry in front of her.  Unfortunately, Dillon preferred his food hot.  He never said a word to Holly about her strange eating habits, but his looks and expressions as he watched her eat spoke volumes.  There was none of the tension and arguing of the previous year when Holly so desperately wanted to return to Hogwarts but family meals remained an uncomfortable activity.

*********************

          A week after Holly’s arrival a thick package arrived at the house.  The return address said _Harry Potter, London_.  Laurel opened it up carefully.  Within she found four sealed envelopes, each bearing the official seal of Puddinghampton School.  A fifth official looking envelope was unsealed.  A note was penned across the front that read:  _extra transcripts, just in case.  Let me know if you need more.  Harry._   Laurel pulled the paper out from the opened envelope and found a complete transcript bearing Holly’s name, listing ordinary classes and giving her scores that would easily gain Holly admission to any other school.  
          Holly wandered into the kitchen and looked curiously over Laurel’s shoulder at the papers.  When Holly realized they were her transcripts, she dashed out of the room and slammed the door shut behind her.  Laurel hastily put down the papers and followed her daughter.  She found Holly in her room on the bed sobbing.  No explanation needed to be given.  Holly was clutching the Hogwarts snow globe Harry had given her.  She was staring at it intently through her tears.  Laurel could do nothing but hold Holly tight and rock her gently until the tears dried out.

*********************

          There remained to find a new school for Holly.  Neither Dillon nor Laurel knew how to select a school.  As an unschooled Empath, Holly had been so overwhelmed by outside emotions that she couldn’t function on her own.  Hogwarts had been thrust upon Holly and the family as a necessity.  While at school, Holly had successfully learned how to block outside emotions and their influences making Hogwarts a necessity no more.   
          Smeltings had been a given for Vernon as it was Dillon’s Alma Mater.  Dillon was proud of his years there and that his dad had attended there before him.  There had been difficulties getting Vernon enrolled though; the school had no record of a “Wycliff” ever attending.  Instead of the guaranteed enrollment due the child of an alumnus, Vernon had to go on the waiting list and was able to attend only because the school had available space…  Laurel suspected Dillon had paid extra to insure that Vernon got into the school.   
          Though nothing was explained at the time, Laurel now realized that the problems were no doubt due to Dillon’s name change some twenty years earlier when Dillon and his family had moved from their original home fleeing the possible wrath of some mad but powerful wizard called Lord Voldemort.  Lord Voldemort was hunting Dillon’s cousin Harry; Harry’s friends and relatives were in danger because of this.  The original danger was long over now, but Dillon and his parents had never bothered to change their names back.  
          Partly because of the guilt he must have felt at making Holly so sad and her lack of opposition at his decision, Dillon was determined to find a school that would make Holly happy—as long as it wasn’t Hogwarts.  The new school had to accommodate vegetarians.  It was clear Holly couldn’t or wouldn’t be changing her eating habits any time soon.  And it had to accept pets.  Laurel was adamant on that point.  The move was not intended as punishment and Sasha should be able to accompany Holly.  The alternative, of course, was keeping Sasha at the house and Dillon agreed that neither of them wanted to do that; they knew very little about pet care.     
          Every night after dinner Dillon perused the Internet examining various schools.  There were so many of them.  He sent out numerous email inquiries confirming accommodations and entry requirements.  
          Holly neither hindered nor helped in his search.  She barely spoke at all; when asked a school related question she merely replied softly, “Whatever you think is best,” and would return to her book or cat or whatever she had been doing.   
          In frustration, Laurel finally grabbed a stack of the most promising brochures and dumped them in front of Holly one evening.  Holly had been lying on her bed reading a book on Shakespearean plays.  “He loves you, you know,” Laurel told Holly.  Holly nodded silently while turning a page.  She continued to read her book ignoring the brochures.  “He wants you to be happy,” continued Laurel.  “But he needs your help.  It may seem right to play the martyr now, but whatever he selects, that’s where you’ll be living next year maybe longer.  _You!_   Not him, Holly.  Don’t torture yourself more than necessary.  Help us find a good place!”  Laurel left the room closing the door behind her.  
           Holly sighed and put down her book after first marking its place.  She stared glumly at the stack of papers.  Finally Holly sat up, picked the first brochure on the top and started reading it…   
          The next morning Holly quietly reappeared in the kitchen after breakfast holding some of the brochures.  Laurel stopped washing dishes to give Holly her full attention.  “These places,” Holly began hesitantly, “they say “vegetarian food upon request.”  That makes me think no one who currently attends the school is actually a vegetarian.  And these places,” she added holding up a different group of brochures, “they say they serve vegetarian food, but there’s no vegetarian entrees listed in their menus…”   
           Holly paused.  She looked down and bit her lip nervously.  “The Slytherins,” she began cautiously... That caught Laurel’s attention. Despite numerous opportunities alone together and questions put to her, Holly had refused to talk about her last few months at Hogwarts claiming that just thinking about it made her too sad.  What would she say about the Slytherins, a group Laurel knew Holly didn’t particularly like?  “When they realized I wasn’t eating meat," Holly continued speaking softly, "they teased me something terrible.  Oh, they figured out why I wasn’t eating meat and they teased me anyway.  Next year,” Holly added sorrowfully. “I won’t be able to tell anyone what happened or why I’m not eating meat.  The other students won’t understand.  If there were more vegetarians attending classes then maybe I won’t stick out so much as odd.  Maybe the other students won’t expect me to try to explain...”  Her voice trailed off uncertainly.   
          Laurel wiped her hands dry and solemnly took the brochures from Holly.  “That’s good, dear,” she said encouragingly.  “We’d have never thought of that.  Thank you.  We’ll be sure to check all the menus and inquire about the other students…” From then on, though Holly never actually approved of a school, she at least gave comments and suggestions and/or reasons to eliminate schools from the list.

*********************

          Holly spent much of her free time next door at the Rogers’ house.  Mrs. Rogers didn’t seem to mind Holly’s melancholy mood.  In fact, as Mrs. Rogers was still mourning the loss of her mother, she welcomed the distraction of Holly’s presence.  Holly had discovered Mrs. Rogers had a piano in the house and used to be a piano teacher.  Holly had begun organ lessons while at Hogwarts.  While not quite the same, both instruments had keyboards.  Mrs. Rogers happily agreed to trade lessons for yard work and Holly welcomed the chance to continue playing.  Holly mentioned to Laurel once in passing it was nice to have a _live_ instructor making Laurel wonder how Holly had learned to play an organ without one…  But she didn’t ask knowing Holly would only sigh mournfully and walk away without answering.   
          Mrs. Rogers told Laurel she was impressed with Holly’s musical abilities especially considering the short time Holly had been playing.  Laurel smiled proudly and privately wondered when Holly had found the time to practice with all the other classes she had taken.   
          Laurel often heard the pleasant musical sounds of Holly practicing her lessons next door through an open window.  Other times the sounds of weirdly strange melodies that seemed both sad and lonely drifted out the window; Laurel knew they must be tunes Holly had learned while at Hogwarts.

*********************

          After much deliberation the number of possible schools had been whittled down to five.  Dillon decided it was time to visit the schools personally before making a final decision.  “You can learn only so much through photos and emails,” he told Laurel.  So Dillon took some time off work and they planned their trip.  Of course none of the five schools were near each other and it would take several hours and sometimes a day or two between schools to reach them all.  Laurel helped plan the route.  Planning also included finding pet friendly overnight accommodations and identifying restaurants along the way that carried food Holly would eat.  
          Unfortunately, those plans hadn’t taken into consideration how Holly would react to the scents commonly found in a restaurant.  The first time they had tried to eat in a regular place the nausea had hit Holly so unexpectedly that she hadn’t managed to make it to the bathroom before vomiting up her recently eaten meal.  Dillon left a rather large tip at that establishment as an apology.   
          The next few meals weren’t so bad.  Laurel gave Holly a handkerchief heavily scented with perfume to help block out the other odors and they chose their seating locations with more care—someplace well ventilated preferably near the toilets.  Holly managed to stay seated to the very end but she placed herself on the edge nearest the restrooms just in case.  The heavy perfume made all the nearby food smell weird and the other customers looked at them strange but it seemed to help Holly.  Unfortunately, all their precautions couldn’t be counted on to help Holly all the time…  Laurel again wished there was some sort of book she could read to help deal with all this.

*********************

          Holly Wycliff sat in the car and stared glumly out the window watching the scenery pass by.  This trip had been a total disaster from day one!  The cause for the trip alone was reason enough for it to be a disaster.  She dreaded the next school visit.  
          Holly knew the first school they visited was very wrong from the moment she met the headmaster.  His emotions felt slimy, like a Slytherin!  Nothing good could come of that.  His manner was smooth and showy as they toured the campus but the appearance of warmth and sincerity was never genuine.   
          Dad didn’t know that.  He was impressed with the headmaster's flattery and flowery words.  Holly would go wherever dad put her, but surely there was someplace less disagreeable.  How to put that into words when her dad asked Holly what she thought of the place?  Holly kept silent in the presence of the headmaster—he took that to be shyness and thought it was “cute,” something they could “easily overcome at his school...”  (As if she wanted anything to do with the guy.)  Holly worked hard to not flinch when he patted her on the back.  When the family entered the car, dad asked Holly again what she thought of the school.   
          “He lies a lot,” said Holly finally.  
          “What?” exclaimed dad in surprise twisting to look at her, “how can you say that?  You saw for yourself it was a lovely school!  Mr. Smythe has numerous degrees and is obviously a fine man.  What would ever posses you say such a thing?”  Mr. Smythe was the Headmaster.  Holly pursed her lips closed refusing to say more.  Dad stared at her angrily waiting for an explanation.  Then he suddenly flushed as if remembering what Holly was and the skill she was supposed to have—the one that got her into Hogwarts in the first place.  
           “All people lie sometimes, dear,” interjected her mum gently.  “What kind of lies?”  
           Holly sighed and tried to organize her thoughts.  “He didn’t earn some of those degrees posted on the wall,” she began.  “There aren’t any other vegetarians currently enrolled in the school.  I think there were, but not now.  He doesn’t like cats and when he said he had loads of work to do—he didn’t, not really…”  
           Dad sighed and leaned back in his seat clearly disappointed.  “Not this place,” he said with finality accepting Holly’s word on the matter.  “That’s why I insisted we visit the schools personally…”  
          The next school was a bit better.  It was an international riding academy.  Holly had absolutely no interest in learning how to ride a horse—brooms were bad enough—but pets were definately welcome at this school and their menus featured several Indian type vegetarian-looking foods.  Students could also take their meals in their rooms, if they wished.  The headmistress wasn’t sure all the professors were competent nor did she personally like the vegetarian food selection, but she was truly proud of her school.   
          The family visited the stables as part of their tour.  The horses reminded Holly of Professor Firenze and Celestae, centaurs she had met while at Hogwarts.  That brought back all sorts of memories Holly hadn’t wanted to dwell upon…   
          “Well?” demanded dad when they got back into the car.  “What about this place?”  
          Holly squeezed her eyes shut lost in unwanted memories and too miserable to respond.  This place made her homesick for Hogwarts.  “I don’t really like horses,” she said finally in a soft voice.  Centaurs, yes—they were smart and could talk.  But horses?  They paled in comparison!  It seemed almost criminal to ride them though; Professor Firenze and Celestae were not the sort to be ridden.  How could she ride these horses while thinking of them?  
          “Besides the horses,” said her mum gently, “was anything else here a serious problem?”  
          Holly sighed. “No,” she whispered reluctantly while shaking her head.  
          “Right!” said dad happily.  “This school is a possibility… Let’s check out the next one!” he added cheerfully.

*********************

          Even worse than visiting the schools was Holly’s inability to control her stomach while in the restaurants.  Holly was mortified that first time when she threw up all over everything.  That had never happened at Hogwarts and it had been so long since she had felt that nauseated that she never expected it.  Holly would have happily eaten every meal alone in the car but dad insisted they eat together…  
          Mum’s perfumed handkerchief had been a good idea for a while but it couldn’t be used again.  Holly didn’t tell mum but the combination of perfume and steak odors had dredged up previously forgotten memories of an opened smoldering scented overnight bag filled with melted lotion bottles and a charred burned body nearby.  
          Holly didn’t mention it to anyone but she had been having a difficult time sleeping at night.  Her nightmares had returned with a vengeance.  Holly no longer had an organ to play before bed as she had done at Hogwarts and Occlumency didn’t seem to be working as well as it had.  Holly could empty her mind for a while but had nothing to fill it with afterwards.  She couldn’t fill her mind with happy thoughts because she had none.  Thinking of those she loved, like her family—didn’t work because they were sending her off to some unknown school!  Thinking of her friends only made her more miserable.   
          Holly longed to talk to Cousin Harry but didn’t dare.  Despite the almost friendly words between them at the station, dad still didn’t like him.  Dad would see Holly’s desire to consult with Cousin Harry as further proof that his decision to remove Holly from Hogwarts was justified.  Besides, Holly had no idea how to even contact him.  Mum must know somehow, but asking her meant explaining why and Holly wasn’t quite up to that.   
          Holly wished desperately she had taken the time to develop some means to privately keep in touch with her cousins and Hufflepuff friends before she had left Hogwarts.  She had been in denial then, hoping against hope that Cousin Harry was wrong and that dad would see how sad Holly at the prospect of leaving Hogwarts and change his mind.  It wasn’t until the transcripts arrived that the finality of the situation sank in.  By then it was too late to figure out ways to contact wizard family and friends.   
          Holly did have her best friend Becky’s address, as her parents were Muggles, like Holly’s.  All of Holly’s mail to and from Hogwarts had gone through Becky’s parents before being forwarded on to insure nothing bearing the Hogwarts name would ever be found in the house and accidentally seen by the wrong persons—in particular, Holly’s grandparents. They thought Holly had attended some place called _Aunt_ _Hillary’s Private Finishing School for Young Ladies!_ ” for the last two years.  Even now they blamed “Aunt Hillary” for their granddaughter’s recent "shameful" conversion to vegetarianism.  The thought of Becky and writing her brought about a new wave of sorrow. Holly closed her eyes willing herself to not cry trying to fight off the depression.  
          The car lurched into a turn and then slowed to a stop.  “Is this it?” dad asked meaning the place where they would spend the night.   
          “I think so,” agreed mum.  She twisted around in her seat.  “Why don’t you two stay here while we check it out and sign in,” she suggested to Holly and Vernon.   
          “O.K.,” replied Vernon affably, he had an electronic game running; it didn’t matter to him how long he sat in the car…  Holly nodded her assent too.  Getting out only meant one step closer to another sleepless night filled with scary bodies. 

*********************

          Seeking a change of topic, Holly turned and studied her brother Vernon thoughtfully.   Vernon had blond hair and green eyes just like Holly.  He was a year older and taller but whereas Holly was slender Vernon was stocky.  He had thicker bones than Holly and a body to match.  Recently Vernon had taken up weight lifting and muscle was replacing childhood fat.  It looked good on him.  Vernon used to be a bit of a bully; Holly could remember seeing him push other kids around at Puddinghampton School when she was younger.  But in the last two years Vernon had apparently turned a new leaf with a new friend and different behavior.  
          Vernon hadn’t complained once about the countryside drive to look at schools for Holly.  In fact, he had accepted the news calmly, almost cheerfully…  
          “How come you’re not angry at me?” Holly asked abruptly.  
           “What?” asked Vernon looking up from his game.  
           “You’re stuck in a car driving around looking at junk for me and you’re not even upset!” Holly explained.  “I mean you can’t have wanted to go driving around like this.  _I’d_ be mad at me if I were you.”  
          “You’re my sister,” said Vernon as if that explained everything.  
          “That needn’t stop you from feeling angry,” persisted Holly.  “People get frustrated and angry within families all the time and for smaller reasons than this—but not you.  I don’t get it.”  
          “If it’s got to be done, it’s got to be done,” Vernon said philosophically.  “Why should I be upset?”  
          “Because all I’ve been doing is messing up your life!”  
          “What do you mean?”  
          “You got stuck caring for Sasha all last summer because I was grounded,” began Holly, “and then I got you in trouble over Christmas holidays, and in trouble at your school with that letter I wrote and now this!  You didn’t ask for this trip!  It’s got to be seriously boring for you at the least and you’re not even a bit upset.”  
          “So?” replied Vernon calmly.  “It’s not like I had any other plans, so why not?”  
          “But I threw up all over you!” wailed Holly still mortified thinking of the first time she had gotten sick in that restaurant.  
          “Yeah,” agreed Vernon ruefully, “that wasn’t so good.  But I’ve never seen anyone turn green so fast and really mean it.  That part was pretty cool.”  
          “You’re not even angry about it?” asked Holly in disbelief.  
          “I was for a while,” admitted Vernon, “but it cleaned up pretty easy and remember, I got a new game chip out of it from dad.  I’m playing it now,” he added holding up his electronic game for Holly to see.  “It’s pretty good.”  
          “But—how can you be so…”  
          Vernon shut down his game and closed the case.  “You want the truth?” he asked looking at Holly directly.  Holly nodded.  “You were always kind of a sickly blob when you were little,” he began. “I kept people from picking on you partly because mum said I had to look out for you and because it gave me an excuse to, uh, push people around,” he said looking away.  “Then you got better.  And you got, well, interesting.”  Vernon looked earnestly at Holly.  “I never know what you’re going to do next.  I don’t do, uh, that pushing stuff any more,” he confessed.  “I don’t really have any friends around our home because the people my age, they still, well, kind of push,” he admitted.  “So without you things at home would be pretty boring indeed.”  
          “I’m sorry,” said Holly sincerely.  She’d never before inquired about Vernon’s outside life during the summers and holidays—never much considered it.   
          “That’s O.K.,” replied Vernon.  “It’s not your fault.”  
          “Some of it is,” insisted Holly.  “I wish I could help—make up for all the trouble I’ve caused.”  
          “You mean it?” asked Vernon hesitantly.   
          “Of course,” she replied.  
          “Then tell me about the crash.”  
          “What?” asked Holly surprised at the request.  Holly had been relieved that no one in the family had hassled her about being a vegetarian correctly assuming that Cousin Harry had explained the situation to them earlier.  It suddenly occurred to her that no one had once mentioned the crash either.   
          “The crash!” repeated Vernon.  “Whatever it was that made you turn vegetarian!” he explained with an eager light in his eye.  “Mum said I wasn’t to talk to you about it because it was too upsetting, but, well, you got to see an airplane crash up close!  How cool is that?!!!”  
          “You want to hear about the crash?” repeated Holly blankly.  Who would ever what to hear about that?   
          “Yep!” confirmed Vernon.  “Did you really see dead bodies and everything?” he asked eagerly.  
          “Um, yes,” confirmed Holly reluctantly.  She hadn’t really described any of that day since her conversation with Cousin Harry and felt odd talking about it now.  
          “How many?” continued Vernon, oblivious of Holly’s discomfort.   
          “Um, lots,” replied Holly vaguely.  There were fifty-two to be exact.  Holly would never forget that number.  
          “Wow!” said Vernon admiringly.  “I’ve only seen one myself!” he stated proudly reminding Holly of how Vernon had happily described the removal of Mrs. Rogers’ mother’s body two years earlier.  “Were they all still strapped down in their seats or what?” he asked with interest.  “How did they die?” he continued not waiting for an answer.  “I want to know everything!”  
          “Everything?”  
          “Everything,” replied Vernon with an almost morbid glint in his eyes.  He looked so hopeful.  
          A gentle tap on the window interrupted their conversation.  Vernon and Holly looked up at the sound to see their mother standing out side Holly’s car door. “O.K. you two,” said mum.  “We’re all checked in.  Time for you to help bring the bags.”  Vernon and Holly obligingly got out of the car.  They collected their things and brought them into the designated room.

*********************

          “Mum?” asked Holly when their things had been unpacked and everything was ready for the night.  Dad had already settled down to watch the tube.  “Can I take a walk and look around outside?  I feel as if I’ve been cramped indoors way too long.”  
          “Me too!” said Vernon noting the significant look in Holly’s eye and hastily shutting down his game.  
          “O.K.” said their mom.  “Here’s the key,” she said handing the house key to Vernon.  “But stay together and don’t stray too far.”  
          “We will and we won’t,” assured Vernon pocketing the key and grabbing a jacket.  Holly got her own jacket and the two left the room.  Sasha trailed along behind.  
          The Wycliffs had stopped at a bed and breakfast for the night.  It was located in a quiet neighborhood.  The two stepped outside.  Sasha ran ahead, her silky gray body brushing Holly’s legs as she ran past them eager to be out and explore.  Vernon closed the door behind them while Holly looked around for other people.  It was fairly late in the evening; the sky had begun to darken due to the setting sun.  At the moment, there were only a few joggers out using the sidewalks.  “You _really_ want to know about the crash?” she asked as they started down the sidewalk.  
          “Yep” breathed Vernon happily as he walked alongside Holly.  
          “Everything?”  
          “Everything,” came the eager reply.  “What did you see first?  The plane or the bodies?”  
          Holly took a deep breath.  “The plane,” she finally answered.  “I didn’t see the bodies until later, it didn’t even occur to me there might be bodies…”  Holly would have never considered relating a description of the crash to anyone let alone her brother but Vernon genuinely wanted to hear the details.  And he didn’t want to know in a mean or malicious way; he just wanted to know.  It seemed a small enough price to pay for all the trouble she had caused him.   
          She let Vernon set the pace answering his every question and in doing so gradually recounted her experience at the crash site that day.  Vernon happily absorbed every morbid detail.  His responses and comments were often punctuated with “Ewww!” and  “Gross!” but he wasn’t disgusted, not at all and kept asking for more.  Vernon had absolutely no interest in the eleven survivors (“They lived—tell me about the others!”) and truly regretted that Holly hadn’t thought to bring a camera and take photos…   
          “Doesn’t all this bother you?” asked Holly when Vernon had finally run out of questions.  It was fairly dark by then but the street lights that had flickered on made it easy to see.   
          “No, not really,” replied Vernon, “I mean, yeah, I’m sorry it happened and sorry for all those people, but it’s not like I knew any of them.  Mostly, it’s all just really, really interesting.  Kenny’s dad is a mortician,” he added.  Kenny was Vernon’s new friend at Smeltings.  “Kenny talks about dead bodies all the time.  It’s no big deal, really,” he concluded.  “Somebody has to take care of them.”  The two continued walking down the sidewalk glancing occasionally at the neatly manicured yards on either side easily visible from illumination of streetlights.  “But not body parts,” Vernon added as an afterthought.  “Kenny doesn’t talk about body parts.”  
          “Oh,” said Holly not knowing what else to say.   
          “We got to dissect frogs and cow eyes in biology this year,” added Vernon brightly.  “That was pretty cool.  But there wasn’t a lot of blood or anything.”  Vernon fell silent as they neared their house, the two of them having already walked around the block more than once.  “I’m glad you got to help some of them,” he told Holly solemnly while stopping at the front door, “even if they didn’t know you were there.”  
          “Me too,” agreed Holly softly still wishing she could have done more.  Vernon used his key to get back inside and the two of them rejoined their parents for bedtime.  
          Holly felt wrung out and exhausted by the time she had fully satisfied Vernon’s curiosity.  Strangely enough though, Holly no longer felt as distressed by the sights she had seen.  It was hard to be horrified and appalled when the person next to her did not share the same sentiment.  Vernon’s enthusiasm had somehow worn off on her.   
          That night, as she practiced Occlumency, Holly emptied her mind as usual, but refilled it with thoughts of Vernon, his cheerfulness and enthusiasm.  She added her memories of Vernon’s emotions that she had felt during their conversation…  Holly woke the next morning fully rested after having experienced the best night of sleep in ages.


	2. Chapter 2

          Dillon Wycliff made sure the family was up and moving soon after sunrise.  Today would be a long day and he wanted an early start.  Vernon grumbled a bit, but grabbed his electronic game and was soon ready to go.  Holly, he noted with surprise, actually had a bit of a smile on her lips instead of looking so sad and tired as she had the previous days.   Perhaps she was finally adjusting to the idea of a new school.  It wasn’t so bad, moving to a new school.  He’d done it.  
          Breakfast went rather smoothly.  Holly turned a bit pale when the bacon was brought out but managed to finish her oatmeal and leave the table without incident.  Dillon hated that Holly had become a vegetarian, but Cousin Harry had been right when he said it wasn’t something Holly could overcome with a bit of hunger.  A healthy Holly was better than some pieces of meat, but it shouldn’t have happened in the first place.  
          The family piled into the auto.  Glancing behind him to make sure everyone was ready, Dillon could see that Vernon had settled comfortably in his seat and was already actively working the controls playing some game.  Holly was staring glumly out the window while absently stroking her gray cat that lay curled contentedly on her lap.  Dillon started the car and turned onto the main road.  Today, however, Dillon was looking for something not marked on Laurel’s route, someplace he wanted to visit first.  
          They had driven about an hour when Dillon spotted something familiar.  He made a right hand turn and started down a new road.  
          “That’s not the way to the school.” Laurel commented.  
          “I know,” Dillon replied.  “There’s something I wanted to see as long as we were out this way.  It won’t take too long,” he added.  “Just a quick side trip to Little Whinging.”  Thankfully, Laurel didn’t ask more questions; Dillon didn’t think he could really explain.  They would all find out soon enough.  
          At first, Dillon thought he might have made a mistake in his turns; he should have checked the map instead of relying on half forgotten memories.  But then, as the auto turned down Magnolia Road, he recognized a child’s play park.  Then he turned onto Magnolia Crescent, which he also recognized.  Finally he saw what he was looking for:  a street sign labeled “Privet Drive.”  Driving a bit further, he pulled his auto to a stop and parked on the sidewalk next to a familiar looking two story house with an old brass number “4” hanging from the door.   
          Privet Drive was filled with large square houses with perfectly manicured lawns—except for the house at Number 4.  The house and grounds at Number 4 Privet Drive stuck out like a sore thumb.  Sections of the low rock wall that surrounded the lawn had crumbled and needed repair. The lawn was filled with tall weeds, dry patches, twigs and leaves. It looked as if it hadn’t been mowed in years.  A hydrangea bush planted near the house had grown to gigantic proportions and completely covered the front window.  
          “This it?” asked Laurel curiously looking at the house.  
          “Yeah,” replied Dillon as the memories washed over him.   
          “Why are we here?” asked Holly from the back seat following his gaze and looking at the house also.  
          “This is where I grew up,” Dillon answered simply.

********************

          Dillon got out of the auto.  The place was clearly unoccupied; there was surely no harm in having a closer look.  Everyone else followed suit getting out also, taking the opportunity to stretch after being in the car for so long.  The cat leaped lightly over rock wall and soon vanished within the tall grass and weeds. “My parents would have had a fit seeing it this way,” commented Dillon to no one in particular remembering the neatly manicured yard and lawn of many years ago.  Appearances were very important to them.     
          Dillon walked along the rock wall turning at the opening; he started down the sidewalk leading to the front door.  The path itself was no longer visible, obscured by a mat of leaves, fallen branches and weeds, but Dillon knew where it should have been. His feet crunched loudly on the leaves with every step.  Holly and Laurel followed.  Vernon gave one cursory look at the house and instead made his way to a fat shady tree on the sidewalk near the car.  He plopped down comfortably in the shade while leaning his back against the tree and resumed his game.  
          While in the middle of the yard, halfway to the house, Dillon stopped and surveyed the house as a whole. The place actually looked pretty good considering its age and disuse.  The paint was chipping but it did not appear to have suffered obvious damage through time or vandalism; its roof, windows and doors all looked intact.   
          “The last time I saw this place,” he said softly, “was over twenty years ago.”   
          Dillon had never talked about that night or the times after to anyone.  Who would have believed him if he had?  Dillon always felt bad about not telling Laurel but he couldn’t.  The family was supposed to be in hiding; a wrong word could betray them to Harry’s enemies.  Worse, to speak of any of it meant acknowledging Dillon’s relation to _that kind of person_.  But Laurel knew about Harry now and the danger from Lord Voldemort no longer existed.  Dillon felt the need to tell Laurel more.  
          “I was in our car seated next to these two very strange w—uh, heading away to someplace—I didn’t know where—because somebody was chasing after Harry,” began Dillon.  “At the time, I think I was more scared of those, uh, people sitting next to me than anything else.  They said it might be a while, but nobody would say for how long.  Probably nobody knew for sure but I don’t think anybody thought it would be for—for as long as it was.  I certainly didn’t.  I always planned to return,” he added while moving forward.  “That’s why I have this.”  Dillon pulled out his set of house keys and separated out a single key that he had carried with him every day since the move.   
          “We drove down the road,” Dillon continued inserting the key in the lock, “until it got darker.  Then they had dad stop the car and they did something to us,” Dillon twisted the key in the lock shivering reflexively as he remembered, “and nothing was ever the same again.”  The door creaked and groaned on its hinges and slowly swung open as Dillon pushed.   
          Dillon closed his eyes remembering.  “We were in a new place with new names,” he continued not moving from the opened door, uncertain of what he would find within.  “Dad had a bank account in his new name with a very generous balance in it.” Dillon remembered how Dad had grumbled at the time that it wasn’t nearly as much as it should be given all the problems _their lot_ had caused his family especially considering all the trouble they had gone to in raising Harry, but looking back Dillon realized it had been more than enough to start over.  “Dad had a new job waiting for him where everyone appreciated his knowledge and expertise,” he continued aloud telling Laurel.  “Our lovely new furnished house was in the kind of neighborhood mum always liked and she fit right in.  And me, well, I had an empty bedroom to fill with new stuff.”  
          Dillon stepped into the house closely followed by Laurel and Holly.  A layer of dust had settled undisturbed on the floor.  An equally thick layer of dust lay on the couch, chairs and furnishings the family had left behind.  Otherwise, the place looked just as Dillon remembered it.  Knick-knacks on the shelves, the tube, magazines on the end tables—everything had a thick layer of dust on it but otherwise looked as it had more than twenty years earlier.  Laurel and Holly spread out looking around but not touching the things they saw in the dusty room—a twenty-plus-year old television guide, a bowl of dad’s favorite candies covered in dust, an ancient magazine on the end table announcing the collapse of a bridge… Dad was sure Cousin Harry planned to take the property for his own, but it was plain that Cousin Harry had never returned.  No one had.   Dillon wondered vaguely why the place had never been broken into or vandalized but shoved the thought aside to continue his story.   
           “I never liked Harry,” he said as he stepped carefully around the room.  Dillon recognized and remembered the various dusty items he saw all in their original places, “and I grew to hate him even more after a while.”  Dillon considered exploring the whole house but decided against it with Holly and Laurel nearby.  There would be things he didn’t really want them to see—didn’t want to try to explain—a door under the stairs with locks outside and another one upstairs with a cat flap… They had made sense at the time, but now, with a family of his own, he wasn’t so sure.  
          “You see,” he explained, “I lost everything because of him—my name, my things, my friends—I couldn’t even return to finish school at Smeltings because, because, someone might have known…”  Dillon looked down at Holly. “They didn’t think to provide me with transcripts,” he added bitterly.  “I had to finish my education at someplace new—where completed transcripts weren’t so important   I had to take all sorts of extra exams to prove I was qualified to receive a diploma.”  Dillon fell silent. Those were times he didn’t like to remember; they were too horrible.  
          “And then I met you,” he said to Laurel walking over to her and drawing her close.  “Somehow you made everything all right again.  You are the best thing that ever happened to me,” he added hugging her tight.  “I don’t expect I’d have ever met you if, if we hadn’t gone into hiding and changed our names,” Dillon added burying his face in Laurel’s hair as she hugged him back, “but those first years were awful...  I wanted to tell you about all this hundreds of times,” Dillon continued, “but I couldn’t.  You’d have thought me crazy and I couldn’t prove any of it.  Also,” he said softly, “I was ashamed.  Ashamed at having to go in hiding, ashamed at being related to people like that…”   
          Dillon renewed his hug holding Laurel even tighter unwilling to let go.  “I can’t even say my own name,” he confessed in a whisper, “not my real one, that is.  You can say it; Harry can say it, but not me, not even now.  Believe me, I’ve tried.  I can’t say it and as for writing it—” Dillon shuttered remembering the last time he had written his original name.  The right hand wouldn’t cooperate but he’d managed to get the left hand to do it.  “It’s possible, but not easy,” he said simply. “I think they thought we might slip up in our new lives so they fixed it so we wouldn’t.  I’ve never asked but I’m sure mum and dad are the same way.”   
          Dillon loosened his hug.  He moved his arms up to her shoulders holding them gently and looked earnestly in Laurel’s emerald green eyes, her beautiful green eyes.  “I was afraid we couldn’t even name our boy Vernon because of that, because you see, that’s dad’s name too, dad’s real name.  You mentioned once how you noticed dad never called Vernon by name.  I don’t think it’s a weird quirk, I just don’t think dad can say his own name even when it belongs to someone else.”  Dillon looked down.  “I used to hate Harry for that too,” he confessed, “but not now.”  Dillon raised his head and scanned the living room with all its dust and forgotten memories.  “Looking about this room,” he began, “I realize that name belonged to a different person, a different life.  I’m not that person any more so I don’t need that name.  I’m, Dillon Wycliff now, with a wonderful wife and two terrific children and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”   
          Dillon felt a small hand take hold of his.  He looked down and saw Holly standing next to them.  “I realize how hard all this has been for you,” he told her changing the subject, “believe me I know, and I appreciate that you haven’t fought me,” he continued.  “I know you like those people, and some of them may actually be nice, but all of them, even Cousin Harry, are very dangerous,” he told her sternly.  “I will never feel at ease until you are as far away from them as possible, safe in another school.”  Holly didn’t answer, but she wrapped her arms around both Dillon and Laurel in a tight hug.  Laurel and Dillon responded by enfolding Holly in their arms making it a group hug.  It was the first time Holly had hugged Dillon since the station.  It was a start.  Maybe she’d truly forgive him someday.  
          “Come on,” said Dillon after they’d finished their hug.  “Let’s get out of here.  We’ve a long way to go…” and he gently guided the two out of the house with an arm on each of their waists releasing Laurel only briefly to close the door.  The three of them stepped together into the warm sunlight and headed towards the car.  Dillon didn’t bother to look back.  This house was nothing to him any more.

********************

          Holly Wycliff could feel the anti-stranger wards surrounding the house the moment she got out of the car to stretch.  The wards felt old and musty, but still quite strong.  She and mum would have soon lost interest in the place as Vernon had, but they were standing next to dad.  Dad wasn’t a stranger.  He belonged here.  Staying close to dad enabled them to bypass the wards protecting the house.  It was as if dad had invited them within making them strangers no more.  Holly found the house, with its dusty relics creepy.  There was no warmth or happiness within its walls.  
          She didn’t need to be an Empath to feel the intense emotions coming from dad as he spoke.  He practically radiated anger, frustration, and grief.  Plainly his experiences after leaving this house were not good.  Holly could see why dad blamed Cousin Harry, though, for their own safety, Harry had been kept ignorant of anything concerning dad and his family.  
          Holly didn’t doubt Dad’s sincerity when he spoke to her about the wizards either.  She disagreed, of course, but while he spoke Holly realized dad still loved her more than anything and no matter what, she still loved him.  
          Holly wished she knew more about medicine and people so she could help ease the pain she felt coming so strongly from dad.  A squeeze with her hand and a hug was all she could think of to do.  It wasn’t much, but surprisingly, it seemed to help.  Dad felt much better when he decided to leave the house.  His spirits rose considerably, and Holly’s along with them, when they stepped off the porch and into the sunlight.  This house of dad’s youth seemed an unhappy place.  Holly much preferred the here and now.  
          “Hey!” came a shout from Vernon from across the way.  “There’s something in this tree!  It looks like it’s been here a while.  Did you guys put something here?”  
          “Not us!” came dad’s easy shout back.  “Dad didn’t hold for stuff like that.”  
          Vernon began pounding on the tree trunk.   
          “I don’t think you should do that, Vernon,” called mum.  
          “Don’t worry,” he shouted back.  “I’m not hurting anything.  I’m just breaking off some chunks of bark that grew over this…” Vernon gave a few more “thunks” on the tree.  “HA!” he shouted jubilantly.  “You may not have, dad, but Cousin Harry sure did.  It’s his name here!”  
          “Can’t be,” responded dad promptly.  “He wouldn’t have dared!  I’d have known!”  
          “Well, he must have pulled one over on you,” responded Vernon excitedly as he continued working. “Because it says Harry Potter and some _girl_!”  Vernon said that last part in a singsongy voice—the kind one used to tease another about boy/girl relations.  He continued to pound on the tree.  
          “There was no girl,” said dad flatly.  
          Holly looked from her dad to Vernon at the tree with a growing sense of apprehension.  She couldn’t see much of anything because Vernon stood in front of the tree with his back to them.  His body covered both the object of his interest and his efforts but there was no doubt in Vernon’s mind about what he had found.  There was also no doubt in dad’s mind about Harry’s life here and no girl.  Cousin Harry wasn’t the kind of person to scratch romantic messages in trees, anyway.  What else could it be?  This didn’t feel right, not at all…  Holly broke free of dad’s grip and quickened her pace to see what Vernon was doing…  
          The pounding stopped and Vernon’s voice came through loud and clear, his voice puzzled.  “But who’s Tom Rid—?”  
          “NOOOO!” screamed Holly running forward.  “DON’T TOUCH IT!”  But her words came too late.  Even as she spoke Holly watched Vernon start to fade and then vanish from sight.             
          The earth seemed to give a mighty heave with a loud rumble like thunder; daylight flickered out, and on again, repeating and continuing so quickly the effect was like strobe lights.  The Wycliff car disappeared.  Other cars and people appeared and disappeared on the road and sidewalks with blinding speed.  The grass besides the tree began to shrivel, shrink to nothing growing moments later at incredible speeds but Holly didn’t notice.  She continued on her run forward all the while screaming, “NOOOOOOOOO!” leaping over the low rock wall and skidding to a stop in front of the huge tree where she had last seen Vernon.    
          The tree was changing too.  Its leaves were shrinking and growing over and over again at a rapid rate.  The trunk seemed to get skinnier and skinnier…

**_Interlude into the past—one fateful day twenty-six years earlier…_ **  


_Tom Riddle bent down and picked up the broken glasses and placed them carefully in his pocket.  They would do Harry Potter no good and would make a nice memento of this day.  As would Potter’s wand that he now carried.  Tom looked down with satisfaction at the wand.  It had a surprisingly familiar feel about it.  Dumbledore would probably recognize the wand when he saw it, but the knowledge would do him no good.  By then, the “boy who lived” would have become a mere memory.  Tom looked up at the basilisk that was now swallowing the last bits of Harry Potter.  It was inconvenient that the Phoenix had destroyed its eyes, but not an insurmountable problem.  Tom would still find uses for the basilisk, even blind._  
 _Tom walked over to the still figure of Ginny Weasley.  He touched her lifeless body with his foot and felt the impact throughout his body.  The transformation was complete—so nice to be able to have form and feelings again.  Tom planned to make so much better use of his body than this silly girl ever would have done with hers.  Tom reached down and removed the journal from Ginny’s cooling fingers.  “She would have no use for it ever again,” he thought dispassionately.  The girl and the journal had both served their purpose.  “The Basilisk would feed well tonight,” Tom decided._  
 _A sudden scraping and rustle caused Tom to jerk around at the noise.  “Who’s there?” he demanded pointing his wand at the cavern wall.  There was no response.  Tom aimed his wand with purpose at the rubble near the wall and shouted “Homenum Reveilo!”  Suddenly the scraping sound increased and a small shape swiftly grew larger and larger until a man was revealed crouching before him._  
 _“An Animagus!” thought Tom with interest._  
 _The man straightened briefly revealing a pointed noise and very small watery eyes.  “Master,” he said in a gravelly voice as he swiftly bent in an elaborate bow.  “I come to warn you!”_  
 _“Master?” thought Tom.  “I like the sound of that.”  Tom studied the man in front of him curiously.  He was a short man, rather portly with grubby skin, thin colourless hair and a bald spot on the top of his head.  The clothing he wore was tattered and gray._  
 _“Who are you?” asked Tom keeping his wand pointed warily at the man.  He wasn’t much to look at, but had been smart enough to say the one thing that might enable him to stay alive—Tom had not intended to leave any living witnesses, but a willing servant, one who could help him get established in the wizard world, that might be useful…_  
 _“Peter Pettigrew, my lord,” said the man licking his lips and rubbing his hands in hopeful anticipation. Tom noticed the man had a finger missing from one hand._  
 _“How long have you been here?”_  
 _Pettigrew glanced about uncertainly as if deciding to what to say.  “I, uh, followed the boy, my lord,” he finally said while shifting uncomfortably._  
 _The whole time!  “So you know who I am?” questioned Tom closely.  That part hadn’t been spoken, but it was a good guess that Pettigrew had been watching too…_  
 _“Yes, my lord,” said Pettigrew eagerly._  
 _“That doesn’t frighten you?”_  
 _“Oh no, my lord,” said Pettigrew.  “I’m already your servant!  Look!” and he pulled the sleeve up on one of his forearms to reveal some sort of a black tattoo mark._  
 _Ginny had been rather vague about the prior doings of Lord Voldemort (except for the Harry part) so Tom had no idea what the mark meant.  But Pettigrew seemed to think it explained everything and Tom had no intention of looking ignorant in front of Pettigrew.  He could research the meaning of the mark later.  “What is your warning?” Tom asked instead._  
 _In response, Pettigrew straightened again.  “There are two others in the pipes, my lord,” he said in a serious voice like one of a lieutenant reporting.  “They will most likely be headed this way…”_  
 _Two others?  And yet the Potter boy decided to come here alone?  Interesting._  
 _“Would you, uh, like me to take care of them, my lord?” asked Peter hesitantly.  There was a cold calculating look in his eyes._  
 _“Take care of them or join them?” Tom silently wondered while suddenly glad he had already collected his journal. He decided to hide it securely away from Pettigrew’s beady eyes at the first opportunity.  Pettigrew appeared to be a “survivor,” one who would do whatever was necessary to stay alive.  Clearly he was not above considering murder.  In addition, Tom was well aware that professed loyalty to Lord Voldemort did not necessarily mean loyalty to himself.  Aloud Tom asked, “How?”  It would be two against one and Peter appeared wandless._  
 _Peter cast a brief longing glance at the wand in Tom’s hand, confirmation that he had no wand of his own, before responding.  “They are wandless,” he began.  “The elder is mind befuddled by a memory charm and scarce knows where he is let alone able to defend himself.”_  
 _“And the other?” inquired Tom curiously._  
 _“The other is a boy,” replied Pettigrew flatly, his watery eyes growing blank in reflection.  “Harry’s age.  I can overpower him easily.”_  
 _“Boy?” thought Tom with interest.  “Who?” he asked.  Ginny had mentioned some of the students.  Perhaps she had mentioned this would-be-rescuer._  
 _Pettigrew’s eyes narrowed.  “Ron Weasley,” he answered calmly.  “Her brother,” he added without emotion while glancing down at Ginny’s still form._  
 _Brother?  Of course!  He was also a good friend of Harry Potter.  That made a lot of sense.  Ginny said they were always together.  It also explained the lack of wands, in part.  Ginny had mentioned that Ron’s wand was broken.  Tom looked down upon Ginny while he considered the situation.  Ron was supposed to have red hair, like Ginny.  “A lock of red hair might make a suitable souvenir,” he mused staring at Ginny’s long red hair, “perhaps two locks—one long and one short…”_  
 _Tom looked up at the short man. “I think I can take care of them myself,” he told Pettigrew confidently.  “I have something else in mind I’d like you to do.”_  
 _“Yes, master?” said Pettigrew eagerly, too eagerly.  Pettigrew would bear watching at all times._  
 _“A small heart-shaped plaque was removed from the wall at King Cross station,” Tom began._  
 _“Yes?”_  
 _“It was placed on the Muggle side of the station at the beginning of the Winter Holiday and removed before the Holiday ended._  
 _“Yes?”_  
 _“I want you to find out who took it,” said Tom simply. The order would keep Pettigrew busy while Tom finished up at the school.  It was no big deal if Pettigrew failed and would give Tom an excuse to kill Pettigrew at his leisure later.  “Bring me that name.” continued Tom, “and then we’ll consider how you might serve me further…”  If Pettigrew succeeded, then Tom would have the name of his next target, his next victim.  No one could be permitted to interfere with his creations without severe consequences._  
 _“Yes, master!”  And Pettigrew turned to leave._  
 _“Pettigrew!” spoke Tom reaching into his back pocket._  
 _Pettigrew turned back with a fearful look on his face. “Yes?”_  
 _“Here,” Tom tossed Ginny’s wand in Pettigrew’s direction.  He had had her wand all along intending to use it against Harry if necessary, but when Harry thoughtlessly dropped his own wand Tom had decided it was much more satisfying to defeat Potter using Harry’s own wand against him._  
 _“Thank you, Master!” replied Pettigrew gratefully as his long fingers and even longer dirty fingernails curled around the wand.  His face lit up in delight as he examined the slender stick.  By accepting Ginny’s wand they had become partners in crime, so to speak.  It would help insure Pettigrew’s silence on this and other matters._  
 _“I want no one to learn of your inquiries,” instructed Tom. “No one!  Do you understand?”_  
 _“Yes, Master!” replied Pettigrew with renewed enthusiasm and a gleam in his beady eyes.  He opened his mouth, put the wand between his long yellow teeth, clamped down securely and began to shrink.  Tom watched in amazement as a gray rat carrying a wand in its mouth scurried through a hole in the wall.  Pettigrew might be very useful indeed._  
 _Tom considered his next move carefully as he bent down to take a lock of Ginny’s long red hair.  He needed to identify and eliminate as many of Lord Voldemort’s enemies as possible.  He wanted to do it now, while they were unwary and unsuspecting.  Such persons represented a threat to Tom’s own existence as well.  And then Tom would seek out and assist in the revival of Lord Voldemort himself._  
 _Unlike those who believed Harry had defeated Lord Voldemort eleven years earlier, Tom knew otherwise.  Tom could sense the Dark Lord’s shadowy presence with every fiber of his newly created body.  Though Tom was not sure he wanted to share power with the Dark Lord, Tom knew Lord Voldemort’s abilities, along with Tom’s, would be necessary to defeat Dumbledore and Tom would never be safe while Dumbledore lived…  After that, who knew?_

**_Back to the present…_ **

          The tree trunk outside the Dursley home began to swell and get thicker again…  Suddenly, it vanished altogether and Holly found herself looking at an uninterrupted view of an empty street.   
          The rumbling thunder stopped.  The flickering daylight steadied into a murky gray and the tall grass quit shriveling remaining tall and uncut but the tree did not return.  All that remained of the tree was a smooth round tree stump cut level with the ground.  Holly stared at the empty space in disbelief.  What had happened to the tree?  
          Slowly Holly sank to her knees.  “Noooooooooooooo!” she moaned.  Her hands clenched up into fists and she pounded the ground angrily **.  “No! No! No! No! No!”** she kept saying as she beat the ground in time with her words.  Eventually Holly tired and the pounding stopped.  She remained alone kneeling on the ground, cradled her head in her arms and began to sob. 


	3. Chapter 3

          “You look like you could use a spot of tea,” came a voice from above.  
          The voice was so familiar yet unexpected that it jolted Holly from her tears.  “What?” she asked while unblocking and looking up.  
          “I said you look like you could use some tea,” repeated the familiar voice.  
          Holly rubbed the tears from her eyes and found herself looking up at the head of an elderly lady wearing curlers and a scarf.  “Mrs. Figg!” said Holly delightedly recognizing the lady.  “What are you doing here?”  Mrs. Figg was the caretaker at Hogwarts.   
          Mrs. Figg took a step backwards in surprise enabling Holly to get a better look at her.  Her hair was done up in small sausage sized curlers and covered over with a hairnet.  There were a lot more lines in her face than Holly remembered.  A faded patched scarf covered most of the curlers and was tied in a knot at her throat.  She wore a faded blue flowered housedress and a worn gray cardigan that was buttoned together at the third button.  Her white socks were rolled down to the ankles showing pale thin bony legs beneath the skirt.  Black heavy oxford shoes, scuffed and well worn, completed the attire.  From one arm hung a string shopping bag that looked worn and patched.  
          “What am _I_ doing here?” Mrs. Figg repeated Holly’s question in surprise. The shopping bag gently swung back and forth as she moved.  “I live here!” she answered and Holly vaguely remembered someone had mentioned Mrs. Figg had once been a neighbor of Cousin Harry...  “At least I do a couple of blocks from here,” she amended.  “I have for over thirty years!” Mrs. Figg added proudly.  “But I don’t remember you!” she added looking down at Holly with concern.  “Have we met before?  My memory is not as it used to be but I’m sure I would have remembered if we had met before.”  
          “Sure we have!” said Holly eagerly as she sat up, “while I was at Hog—” Holly stopped, for Mrs. Figg had swiftly moved her free hand to cover Holly’s mouth stopping Holly from speaking.  The shopping bag swung forward also banging Holly in the shoulder and arm.  There was something very heavy and solid inside.  
          “Mustn’t mention names dear,” Mrs. Figg said worriedly looking all around her in fear.  “Names are dangerous!  Do you understand?”  Only after Holly had nodded did Mrs. Figg cautiously remove her hand from Holly’s lips.  “Now,” continued Mrs. Figg seriously, “did you say you would like some tea?”  
          “I guess, so, yes, please,” said Holly solemnly.  
          “Good,” replied Mrs. Figg happily.  She offered Holly her free hand and helped her stand.  Holly brushed the leaves and dirt from her legs.  “My home is only a short walk from here,” Mrs. Figg continued.  “Why don’t you come with me and we can continue our chat there.  It’s been ages since I’ve had any visitors.”  Mrs. Figg turned to leave but Holly remained standing, staring at the place where the tree had been.  
          “What is it, dear?” Mrs. Figg asked kindly noting Holly’s reluctance to move.  
          “The tree,” stated Holly.  “What happened to it?”  
          “The tree?” Mrs. Figg frowned looking blankly down at the ground finally noting the stump that Holly was staring at. “Oh _that_ tree!” she replied knowingly.  “Lightening struck it!  Or so they say.  Such a storm as you never did see before!  All kinds of lightening—green, red, gold—and on a clear night too!  If one didn’t know better,” she added in a whisper, “one would have thought there were people flying up there fighting away!  But of course, that’s not possible!” concluded Mrs. Figg.  And Holly, reading the emotions behind Mrs. Figg’s words, realized that a fight, most likely between wizards, was exactly what _had_ happened.  “That’s why we all decided it must be lightening,” Mrs. Figg continued in a louder voice, “Anyway,” she added conversationally, “one of those flashes of light struck the tree and it sort of exploded!  Such a loud _boom_ too!  I’d have thought a bomb had hit it!  There wasn’t much left of the tree when I saw it the next morning—not much at all,” she finished.  
          Mrs. Figg regarded Holly thoughtfully as Holly stared mournfully at the tree stump.  “It’s just a tree, of course,” she mused.  “Though, I seem to recall that _he_ was rather distressed too when I told him about the tree…”  
          “He?” queried Holly looking at Mrs. Figg for further explanation.  Had someone else known what was in the tree?  
          “Mustn’t mention _that_ name,” Mrs. Figg replied firmly.  “That name can get you killed for sure!”  Holly knew better than to press.  Mrs. Figg was convinced that identifying “he” was deadly.  The very thought of saying it seemed to terrorize her.   
          Holly looked behind Mrs. Figg to the house she and her parents had just left.  It was still there.  But it was covered in a warm silvery shimmery glow that was hard to see through.  Everything within the garden wall, even the low rock wall had the same pale silvery glow.  In front of the house Holly noted a pillar of shimmering light.  There were different wards surrounding the house and yard, but Holly thought she could go through them.  
          “What are you doing?” asked Mrs. Figg grabbing Holly’s arm stopping her from stepping back over the wall to investigate.   
          “There’s something I need to see first,” replied Holly struggling to break free of Mrs. Figg’s hold.   
          “No!” insisted Mrs. Figg grabbing still tighter.  “That’s bad luck!  Very bad luck!”  Mrs. Figg was dead serious; the fear oozed out of her.   
          Holly stopped struggling.  “What’s wrong with it?” she asked while staring intently at the shimmering pillar.  It wasn’t a pillar, not really.  Holly could just barely recognize her dad within.  He stood still, like a statue frozen in time.  One arm was outstretched pointing towards the rock wall.  It must have been that way after Holly had broken free to run to Vernon.  The other arm was low and curled as if it were encircling mum.  But mum wasn’t there.  Where was mum?  Like Vernon, mum had vanished completely.  
          “People are watching this lot!” Mrs. Figg said nervously looking about.  “Always!”  She pulled Holly away from the brick wall.  “You mustn’t enter!  You’ll be seen!  Besides,” she added, “there’s nothing there anyway—no reason to enter that lot!”  That was said with conviction too.   
          Holly looked at Mrs. Figg in amazement.  Dad was in that lot!  The house was still there, its huge shape clearly recognizable underneath the silver sheen.  How could she say nothing was there?   “What do you see?” Holly asked cautiously.  
          Mrs. Figg turned her attention to the lot and stared at it intently.  “Nothing,” she replied finally.  
          “Nothing?” asked Holly dismayed while still staring at her dad.  His outstretched arm seemed to beckon her.  “Nothing at all?”  
          “Dirt,” amended Mrs. Figg,  “and rocks.”  She leaned over and whispered in Holly’s ear, “That’s how you know it’s bad luck!” she added.  “Nothing grows there; nothing lives there!  Not even weeds!”   She tugged on Holly’s arm and Holly allowed Mrs. Figg to guide her down the sidewalk alongside of the lot.  
          “How long has it been that way?” Holly asked still staring at her dad longingly as they moved further away.   
          “Ages,” replied Mrs. Figg as they walked.  She moved swiftly and kept a tight grip on Holly forcing her to keep up.  “Twenty, maybe twenty-five years now,” continued Mrs. Figg conversationally.  “There used to be a family living there with a fine huge house, a neat lawn and well-kept flower garden…  I knew them quite well,” she added as an aside.  
          “What happened?” asked Holly.  They had already moved past the rock wall and continued down the street on the sidewalk.  Holly twisted her body and head to keep looking at her dad as they walked trusting that Mrs. Figg wouldn’t let her stumble or fall.  It was getting harder and harder to see his figure.  Finally, she couldn’t see it at all.  Holly longed to go back but allowed Mrs. Figg to propel her forward instead.  She could return to him later.  
          “One day,” said Mrs. Figg importantly, “they all vanished!  The house, the family, everything!  And all you could see was the dirt.  There was a big to-do at the time—mind you.  Nobody knew what had happened and that empty lot really ruined the look of the neighborhood—not to mention property values!”  They reached a playground—it was empty of children; the swings were broken and trash lay everywhere.   Mrs. Figg leaned over and whispered in Holly’s ear,  “I’m not sure, mind you, but I think everything all vanished on the very day that poor boy disappeared!”  
          Holly felt her whole body grow cold.  She froze in place forcing Mrs. Figg to stop too.  “What boy?” Holly asked fearing she already knew the answer.  “Do you mean H—”  
          _“That_ name is definitely dangerous!” interrupted Mrs. Figg before Holly could finish.  “Even now!  But he was some relative of theirs.  He used to go to a very special school,” she continued.  “And one day he just went missing and was never seen again!”  Mrs. Figg gave Holly a firm shove forcing her to move forward again.  “It really isn’t safe out here,” she muttered worriedly, “not safe at all.”  
          Holly’s mind was in a whirl.  She moved mechanically not caring where they went.  Mrs. Figg’s words had dispelled any lingering doubts Holly may have had concerning what had happened.  Not that she had had any.  Holly realized as soon as he vanished that Vernon must have activated a _Time Reverse Curse_ no doubt placed on the tree by Tom Riddle over twenty years ago.  Even now Vernon would be sitting alone in the dark tied securely to a chair waiting to die!  Without meaning to, Holly had managed to mess up his life again!  She should have told him about the plaque so he would have known better than to touch it.  But Holly hadn’t thought it necessary.  No one thought a second such cursed object existed, or it would have been hunted out and destroyed.  It was too late to do that now.   
          Holly knew about the curse and the object causing it only because she had encountered them both her first year while at Hogwarts.  Then, her cousin Albus Potter had accidentally set the curse off sending Holly into a nightmare world where Cousin Harry had died and Lord Voldemort ruled.  Holly hadn’t been affected by the curse.  For some reason she could still remember things before the curse took effect.  That knowledge enabled her to do what was necessary to reverse the curse.  They later decided that Albus Dumbledore had somehow protected her family when they took in Cousin Harry and Dumbledore’s protection was older and stronger than the curse.  
          The experience had given Holly nightmares long afterwards.  Though no one believed it possible, (not even Holly) a part of Holly was convinced it could happen again.  She coped by wearing Muggle street clothes at all times, including shoes (even when she slept.)  Cousin Harry reasoned Muggle items were less likely to be affected should Lord Voldemort take over the wizard world again.  And, so she’d never feel so helpless again, she always wore—Holly slid her hand to her waist while they walked and tugged on a belt she had worn for over a year.  Tucked securely within was a wand she had received during her last experience—a wand that had survived the return to the regular world; it was sure to stay with her and work in the nightmare world as well…  Holly’s fingers curled confidently over the end of the belt and felt— _nothing!_   It was gone!!!  Holly stopped in her tracks and swiftly pulled the belt out all the way.  Was there a hole?  Had it slid out?  
          “What’s wrong?” inquired Mrs. Figg when Holly stopped.   
          “It’s gone!” muttered Holly worriedly, looking all about—perhaps it had fallen!!!  
          “What’s gone?” Mrs. Figg asked.  
          “My wand!” replied Holly in a panic.  “It was here!  It’s supposed to be here with me!  Maybe it dropped somehow?”  Though there had clearly been no hole in either belt or case.  
          “Never mind, dear,” replied Mrs. Figg calmly.  “You’re better off without it.”  
          “You don’t understand,” began Holly desperately.  “It’s special.  It’s supposed to stay with me!”  The belief that the wand would travel with her whatever happened had enabled her to sleep at nights.  Even now Holly clung to that belief unwilling to let the reality of this nightmare world shatter it.  “It’s got to be here somewhere!” she added frantically.  Holly broke free of Mrs. Figg’s grip, wheeling around to retrace her steps.   
          “NO!” said Mrs. Figg as she swiftly grabbed Holly and pulled her back.   
          Holly struggled desperately to escape all the while crying, “I’ve got to find it!  I’ve got to find it!”  
          Mrs. Figg twisted Holly around so they were face to face.  Holly responded by pounding on her chest.  Mrs. Figg was surprisingly strong for an old lady and Holly couldn’t break free even though she tried.  _“You don’t understand!”_ said Mrs. Figg loudly interrupting Holly’s flow of words.  She held Holly firmly by the shoulders while she spoke. _“Those things are dangerous!”_ she began while looking directly into Holly’s eyes emphasizing the importance of her words.  _“They’ll know if you use it!  They can track you through them!  They’ll hunt you down!  If you are caught with one in your possession you could DIE!”_     
          The force of Mrs. Figg's conviction overwhelmed Holly leaving no room for doubt.  Holly stopped her struggling and instead collapsed onto Mrs. Figg in a flood of tears.  “But what’ll I do?” she wailed clinging to Mrs. Figg.  
          “What you will do,” Mrs. Figg briskly replied taking charge of the situation, “is have a cup of tea.”  She released her grip on Holly and put one arm around her in a comforting hug.  “Everything always looks better after a cup of tea,” she added confidently while she again propelled Holly forward.  
          Mrs. Figg guided Holly up a walkway through a neatly kept yard to a small nondescript white cottage, which looked much like every other structure on the street.  They stopped at the front door.  Mrs. Figg rummaged around in her bag finally pulling out a small key, which she inserted into the front door.  She turned the key in the lock and then removed it returning the key carefully to her bag.  Using the same hand Mrs. Figg opened the door.  The aroma of cooked cabbage wafted out.  “Come in,” she encouraged.  Without waiting for Holly to move, Mrs. Figg gently but firmly pushed Holly inside and closed the door behind them.  

********************

          “I hope you like cats,” said Mrs. Figg cheerfully as she carefully locked the front door.   
          “Um, yes,” replied Holly a lump forming at her throat as she thought of her own sweet Sasha that was still somewhere in the other world…  
          “That’s good,” continued Mrs. Figg as she proceeded to fasten the ten other locks, bolts and chains also attached to the door.  “Because I have four of them!  All perfect dears!” she added proudly while she worked.  Holly took the opportunity to look around.  All the windows were covered with yellowing curtains making the room dim; it took a while for Holly’s eyes to adjust.  The living room was simple and sparsely furnished with a sofa, a few chairs covered and a low coffee table.  There was no television.  The photos on the fireplace mantle portrayed cats.  Holly didn’t look around for long because four furry shapes all left their resting places and came forward to greet her.   
          “Ah,” said Mrs. Figg delightedly, “I see they’ve found you!”  The cats crowded around Holly and she knelt to pet them.  They weren’t Sasha, but their familiar cat touch and soothing purrs surrounded Holly making her feel much better.  Sasha’s purr used to help Holly block outside emotions and the genuine happiness of these cats at her presence helped Holly momentarily set aside her own problems.   
          “It looks as if they’ve taken to you!” observed Mrs. Figg warmly.  “They are a very good judge of character.”  And Holly had the feeling she had just passed some sort of test.  “The tortoise shell is Poopsey,” Mrs. Figg said pointing to a large cat with yellow eyes that was happily turning circles rubbing herself against Holly’s knees.  “And that one is Boots,” she added indicating a sleek black cat with white paws that was arching her back happily with Holly’s every stroke.  “The orange one on your lap is Tiger,” she continued.  Tiger had settled quickly on Holly’s lap while purring loudly.  “And the one in your arms,” meaning an affectionate black and gray tabby, “is Prince.”  Holly smiled lovingly at all the cats lost in their warmth.  She knew all the names from Hogwarts.  Maybe things weren’t so different here after all.   
           “Where’s Snowball?” Holly suddenly asked looking up at Mrs. Figg and remembering the elegant all-white longhaired cat with deep blue eyes she had seen at Hogwarts.  So lost in memories, Holly had forgotten Mrs. Figg had said there were only _four_ cats.   
          “Snowball’s dead,” said Mrs. Figg flatly.   
          “Oh,” said Holly sincerely not knowing what else to say.  She could feel Mrs. Figg’s pain at recalling Snowball.  
          “She died a few years ago,” she added looking at Holly oddly.  “How did you know about her?  No,” Mrs. Figg continued quickly before Holly had a chance to speak, “don’t tell me.  I don’t think I should know.  If people were to ask me something, I couldn’t tell them anything if I don’t know, now could I?”  
          “No,” whispered Holly softly.  The silence between them seemed to shout louder than words.  Mrs. Figg clearly knew Holly was more than a just casual stranger, but not what—wanting to know more but afraid to find out.  Unfortunately, she could be right.  
          “Some of the neighbor’s grandkids were throwing stones,” Mrs. Figg finally said breaking the silence.  “A lot of stones…”  
          “That’s terrible!” murmured Holly burying her face in Prince.  The Snowball of her world had always been a bit standoffish and loud, especially when students weren’t where they belonged, but she hadn’t deserved to be stoned.  No cat did.  
          “There was no point in complaining,” continued Mrs. Figg matter-of-factly.  “The father took the body, threw it in the dump and then told me he saw Snowball in the town with a lady cat—said Snowball had just “run off.”  I pretended to believe him, of course.  He’s a member of Security and it wouldn’t do to make him mad,” she added, “but I knew different—my cats told me what really happened.”  All four cats growled softly and Holly could feel the anger behind her words.  “The father used to throw stones at cats when he was younger too!  That’s why my cats only go out at night, now, when the neighbors are asleep.”  
          “Oh,” said Holly softly.  Security???  What was that?  
          “My, where are our manners?” said Mrs. Figg suddenly.  “We shouldn’t let you sit on the floor.”  She reached down to help Holly up.  Prince jumped out of Holly’s arms to the floor.  Tiger leaped lightly off Holly’s lap and the other cats scattered.  “Have a seat!” Mrs. Figg suggested pointing to the sofa after Holly had stood.  So Holly sat down on a paisley print sofa covered with all colours of cat hair.  Tiger promptly returned to Holly’s lap and began kneading her legs happily.  Poopsey settled down on the sofa next to Holly rolling on his back asking for a belly rub and the other cats curled up on different chairs in the room.  
           “I’ve something to show you,” Mrs. Figg said moving to the coffee table in front of the sofa.  It was covered with a stack of thick albums each a different shape with different coloured covers resting one on top of the other three to four books deep.  Selecting one on the top with a royal blue colour, Mrs. Figg used her gray cardigan to wipe the dust and hairs off the book and opened it in front of Holly.  “See,” she said pointing to a photo of a stately cat with long white hair.  “That’s Snowball.  Wasn’t he handsome?”  Holly nodded solemnly.  “And there’s Prince and Tiger when they were kittens…” she added pointing to other photos of cats on the page.  “Weren’t they cute?”  Holly nodded again.  “And look at these!” she directed turning the page. Revealing more photos of cats in various poses each neatly labeled with a name and year.  “In fact, why don’t you just browse through the photos while I get the tea ready,” Mrs. Figg suggested while moving briskly towards another room, presumably the kitchen.   
           Holly sighed and thumbed idly through the pages rapidly finishing the album.  She liked cats, but…  she had other things on her mind.  She put that album back.  Rather than dust off another album, Holly fished out a red one from the bottom of the stack and, shoving Tiger aside, set it on her lap.  It was much older and its cream coloured pages were brown on the edges and brittle with age.  Holly started from the beginning turning the pages carefully.  There were more cat photos; each neatly labeled.  Mittens, Princess, Puss, Tabby, there were lots of names and lots of photos.  The colour had faded with time giving them all a washed out appearance.  
          Holly paused at a photo of a huge cat being held by a small boy. The caption read:  “Baby, 1985.”  It was the unnamed boy that held her attention more than the cat he held.  It was the first photo Holly had seen of something or someone other than a cat so she studied it more closely.  The boy looked small and thin compared to the cat, which was very big and fat.  He looked very young, too, perhaps four or five years.  He had black hair that stuck out and glasses that looked too big for his thin face.  The huge multicoloured cat hung limply in his skinny arms and he seemed to stagger under its weight.   
           “Oh my!” said Mrs. Figg looking over Holly’s shoulder.  She had entered with a tray of delicate looking porcelain teacups decorated with a spray of some small pink flower and a huge matching teapot.  She set the tray down on top of the albums not bothering to dust them off first.  Then she reached out and pulled the photo with the boy out of the album.  “I should probably get rid of this,” she said thoughtfully looking at the photo.  
          “Why?” asked Holly curiously.  She held out her hand in a mute appeal to look at the photo again.  
          “Because of the boy, you see,” she replied handing the photo to Holly.  “One shouldn’t keep pictures of him around,” she explained.   
          Holly looked at the boy with renewed interest.  He looked like an ordinary boy to her—rather skinny, but ordinary.  “What’s wrong with the boy?” she asked.  
          “That’s the one who went missing,” Mrs. Figg explained in a hushed whisper.   
          Holly looked up at Mrs. Figg with wide eyes.  “H—” but stopped herself when she saw Mrs. Figg’s finger go to her lips.  She began again, “You mean the one from the school?” she asked careful to not name names.  
          Mrs. Figg nodded.  “I used to baby-sit him, all the time,” she explained.  Holly studied the photo again trying to see a zig-zaggy scar on the boy’s forehead but the photo was too faded.  He looked like a stranger to her.  “He was a very quiet boy, almost shy,” Mrs. Figg reminisced while Holly looked.  “Very polite too, not like today’s ruffians.   Baby followed him home one day,” she added remembering. “He had to carry Baby all the way back to my house because she wouldn’t come otherwise.  I just happened to have my camera handy at the time.  Baby looked so cute being carried like that.  I don’t think he liked cats too much, though,” Mrs. Figg reflected taking the photo back looking at it again while she talked, “but he never seemed to mind looking at my photos.”  Mrs. Figg studied the photo silently while remembering and then added, “Baby got hit by an auto a few days later and died.  It’s my only photo of Baby and I hate to get rid of it,” she said regretfully.  
          “There’s no name on it,” commented Holly softly.  “No one could recognize him from this,” she said handing the photo back to Mrs. Figg.   
          “Perhaps,” agreed Mrs. Figg thoughtfully.  “But it doesn’t hurt to be too safe either,” she added decisively.  “Maybe I could just cut off the boy’s head and keep the rest of the photo,” she mused placing the photo in a pocket of her cardigan. “No one could ever recognize the hands…”   
          Holly looked away not arguing.  Mrs. Figg probably knew best, but cutting off the head in the photo felt somehow like killing the boy to her.  
          Mrs. Figg looked at the tray of tea and cups in front of them, “Well,” she said cheerfully, “we’d best get to our tea before it gets cold.  She started setting out the teacups.  Holly watched in amazement as Mrs. Figg proceeded to lay out six cups and saucers on the coffee table.  She decided against asking “Why.”   
          “Oh, I forgot the biscuits,” Mrs. Figg added as she began to pour the still steaming tea into the cups.  Would you mind getting them for me?”  
          “O.K.,” said Holly.  She closed the album carefully and set it down on the sofa on the other side of Tiger.  
          Then Holly got up and started towards the kitchen while Mrs. Figg kept up a steady chatter.  “You have no idea how lucky it was that I saw you this morning,” she began.  “It was just chance that I was looking out the window when you were pounding on the ground.”   
          Holly stopped mid stride.  She turned and looked around the front room at the windows with their yellowed dusty curtains.  “Out these windows?” she asked.  The curtains looked like they hadn’t been touched in years.  
          “No, of course not,” replied Mrs. Figg kindly, “the kitchen windows.  You’ll see when you get the biscuits.  They’re in a box on the table, I think.” Holly nodded and walked to the kitchen.  The kitchen was easy to find.  A pot of cabbage soup simmered on the stove and the strong scent filled the air.  The room she headed towards was inviting and filled with light; curtains must not be covering the kitchen windows.  
          Mrs. Figg continued her narrative from the other room.  “If Security had seen you like that they’d have asked all sorts of awkward questions,” she added loudly.  “And we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?  No, indeed.”  
 _“Security?”_ thought Holly as she entered the kitchen.  That was the second time Mrs. Figg had used the word.   What was that about?   
          Holly found the table easily.  It was set against the wall across from the sink.  The small two-person table was covered with a brightly coloured afghan as a tablecloth.  The afghan had fat pink, orange and green zigzag stripes and was so large it hung down over the sides of the table laying in folds on the floor.  The stripes were not aligned parallel to the table—an orange stripe touched the floor at the wall and angled up in a diagonal so the same stripe also covered the corner of the table.  The afghan looked like it had been there for ages; dust and cat hairs had gathered on the top dimming the bright colours; more dirt, dust and cat hairs lay on the folds touching the floor.  Next to the table on the floor sat four china blue saucers lined up neatly against the wall.  Each saucer gleamed as if polished daily.  
          A dusty vase with four plastic pink roses and two daisies, also covered in dust, adorned the table.  Two placemats lay on top of the afghan opposite two chairs.  The red and blue plaid mat was covered with dust, as was the top of the chair next to it.  The purple, blue and gold placemat had bright colours reflecting daily use.  A pair of bright red child’s binoculars lay on top of it.  There was no box of biscuits.   
          Holly scanned the room for the biscuits glancing out the kitchen window in passing.  She froze and looked again outside the window!  There was a huge tree blocking the view!  Beyond it was a high fenced in yard!  She looked around for another window but there was none.  Mrs. Figg hadn’t been lying yet how could she have seen her at dad’s house from here?   
          Holly studied the kitchen more closely.  There must be something she was missing.  The stove, the table, the icebox and counters with a few clean dishes drying in the dish rack, a deep litter box in the far corner—nothing looked odd or out of place.   
          Holly’s eyes returned to the dusty table.  She surveyed it thoughtfully.  The biscuits had never been on the table or they would have left a clean mark of some sort.  Was there another reason Mrs. Figg suggested she look there?  The only thing of interest on the table was the binoculars. Holly picked them up and looked through them.  They magnified the floor showing all the dust bunnies that gathered in the corners, and showed the bark on the tree outside in greater detail.  
          “You’re using the wrong lens,” said Mrs. Figg from behind her.  Holly whirled around at the sound of the voice almost dropping the binoculars in the process.  Mrs. Figg reached out and fitted what looked like some matching red caps on the end of the binoculars.  “Try them now,” she suggested.  Holly again looked through the binoculars.  They again showed the dust bunnies but when she looked up and out the window she saw, not the tree and yard outside, but the outline of a house with a shimmering glow, dad’s house!


	4. Chapter 4

           Holly laid the binoculars down on the table and looked up at Mrs. Figg.  Holly was afraid to speak not knowing what she could safely say and hoped Mrs. Figg would explain further.  Mrs. Figg met that gaze squarely but there was fear behind her eyes.  “ _He_ gave them to me right after the tree was destroyed,” began Mrs. Fig softly, cautiously.  Her bright blue eyes bored into Holly as she spoke.  Fear oozed out of her; it was a story she was afraid to tell yet somehow needed to tell at the same time.  
 _“He_ again,” thought Holly in frustration, “ _He_ who?"  It couldn’t be Cousin Harry, he was dead, but who else was there?  Who else might have known besides Tom Riddle and Holly doubted the proud Tom Riddle she had seen would give Mrs. Figg the time of day.  Holly longed to ask but didn’t.  It was plain Mrs. Figg was already having a difficult time speaking.  
          “I told _him_ I was afraid, that I thought _they_ were watching the place too.  I was afraid _they_ would see me, afraid I’d get caught…”  Mrs. Figg looked away, shame and fear washed over her.   
 _“They_ who???” asked Holly silently.  But instead said out loud:  “You’ve been watching the place?”  
          Mrs. Figg nodded, still not looking at Holly—she looked instead at the four cats that had followed her into the kitchen and were silently but anxiously circling around and between both Holly and Mrs. Figg’s legs.  “Ever since the house first disappeared,” Mrs. Figg added in a whisper.  “ _He_ asked me to keep an eye on it and let him know immediately if anything strange happened there.  Nothing did, of course, until the tree outside exploded.  Then _he_ gave me these,” Mrs. Figg gestured to the binoculars, “and told me if any person should show up inside I should try to help that person…” Her voice trailed off.  “I never saw him again.”  Holly didn’t need to ask why.  The incredible sorrow that suddenly surrounded Mrs. Figg said it all.  _He_ , whomever he was, had undoubtedly died.  
          “Look at me, please,” Mrs. Figg commanded quietly, looking again at Holly.  Holly turned her green eyes on Mrs. Figg’s blue ones ignoring the curlers, the stray strands of gray hairs sticking out and the wrinkles of age.  Mrs. Figg studied Holly’s face for several minutes.  “You have the same eyes,” she concluded thoughtfully.  “Though I don’t know why.  You’re polite, too, just like he was,” she added.  “Good manners are so important.”   Mrs. Figg closed her eyes and gave a bit of a shutter as if having come to a big decision.  Then she opened her eyes, took a deep breath and asked:  “Were _you_ inside earlier?”   
          Slowly Holly nodded all the while keeping her eyes fixed on Mrs. Figg’s eyes, willing Mrs. Figg to believe her.  A full minute passed before Mrs. Figg relaxed her gaze and nodded thoughtfully.  “I wondered,” she stated finally.  “All of that was so long ago that I had all but given up.  So I wasn’t watching as I should,” she confessed.  “I was doing dishes.  When I finished and had a look, there you were just outside pounding on the ground!  I never saw you walking up the sidewalk and surely I would have!  Your behavior was very unusual as are your clothes, so I thought that maybe, just maybe, you had come from inside…  But I wasn’t sure.”   
          Mrs. Figg reached out and took the binoculars from the table.  She removed the extra lenses, put them in her pocket and returned the binoculars to the table. Then she turned away and walked to the far wall. “I have something for you,” she added conversationally bending down over the litter box there.  “At least I think it’s for you.  _He_ asked me to give it to you, to someone rather, he didn’t say whom, but I think he meant you, when you arrived.”  She picked up the scooper and began to dig through the clumps and sand.  
          “How did _he_ know?” asked Holly curiously while watching Mrs. Figg scoop away.  “ _I_ didn’t even know!”  
          “Oh, he was a very smart person,” replied Mrs. Figg pulling something out of the litter.  “Some said he was the greatest w—, well that was when they could talk about him,” she concluded lamely.  “I don’t suppose they said much of anything after—afterwards,” she added sadly.  Mrs. Figg set the scooper down and returned to Holly.  She was carrying something under her cardigan.  “Why don’t we go into the other room and have our tea while you look at this, shall we?” she suggested.  “No windows,” she added by way of explanation.  Holly nodded.  
          On her way out Mrs. Figg paused to open a cupboard.  Using her free hand she reached in and brought back a small canister.  “Biscuits,” she said with a smile.  The contents of the canister rattled loudly while she rubbed off the dusty top with her cardigan.  “Can’t have a proper tea without them.”  Mrs. Figg then carried her things back to the parlor with Holly following close behind.   
          Holly took her seat again on the sofa while Mrs. Figg pulled up a chair shooing off Boots in the process.  Boots had run ahead and had leaped onto the chair before their arrival.  Boots resettled quickly on the sofa with the other three cats that already crowded around Holly begging for attention.  Holly stroked them all absently while waiting for Mrs. Figg to give her what she had stuffed under her cardigan.  Mrs. Figg, however, shifted the item in question onto her lap and instead insisted on opening the canister first.  She passed out the biscuits—six of them—one on each saucer, next to the cup of already poured tea.  “Oh dear,” she mused while she worked, “the tea seems to have cooled.  Perhaps I should refresh the cups…”  
          “That’s O.K.,” replied Holly taking her cup while trying to keep the impatience out of her voice.  “It’s quite fine the way it is,” she added quickly taking a sip.  “I much prefer my tea a bit cooled.”  
          “Very well,” said Mrs. Figg reluctantly.  “Would you like some sugar?  Cream?”  
          “No, thank-you,” replied Holly politely while noting there was no cream or sugar dish on the tray had she wanted any, which she didn’t.  She wanted to see what _he_ had left her, whomever _he_ was!  But Holly held her tongue.  Mrs. Figg valued good manners and Holly suspected she would not take kindly to being rushed.  
          Mrs. Figg picked up her own tea and stirred it carefully.  “How is it?” she inquired courteously taking a sip of her own.  
          “Just fine,” replied Holly taking a second sip to prove her words.  She took a small nibble of the biscuit and placed it back on the saucer; it smelled old and stale and was dry and as hard as a rock reminding Holly of Hagrid’s cooking.  
          Mrs. Figg set her cup and saucer down.  “I guess we had better get on with things, shall we?”  
          Holly nodded eagerly while setting her own cup and saucer down.  
          “Mind you,” continued Mrs. Figg using her cardigan to carefully rub the dust from the packet.  “I’m still not sure I should be giving this to you, but, here—.”  She handed Holly a rather thick parcel wrapped tightly in twine with plastic beneath.  
          Holly examined the parcel with trembling fingers.  It wasn’t very heavy; it looked rather old and smelled like, well, what one would expect something would smell like after sitting in a litter box.  Holly ignored the smell and her fingers fell to untying the knots.  The knots were damp as was the rest of the twine and would not loosen.  Holly would not let herself think what might have caused the dampness as she worked.  Fortunately, the twine was also brittle and broke apart easily beneath her fingers.  Holly gingerly unwrapped the twine and placed the pieces on the floor next to her.  Then she began to unwrap the plastic wrapping beneath.   
          “I added the plastic bag and twine,” said Mrs. Figg while she watched Holly work.  “ _He_ said I didn’t have to, but considering where I was hiding it, I thought it might be a good idea.”  
          “You were probably right,” said Holly as she looked inside the heavy plastic bag.  “Everything looks fine inside…”  Mrs. Figg smiled at the observation.  Holly used a napkin and wiped off her fingers before carefully withdrawing the contents with one hand.  Using her other hand she discarded the bag on the floor next to the twine.  
          Holly set the contents on her lap carefully.  It was another parcel tied with twine.  It had no label and was wrapped in familiar parchment paper that had yellowed with age and crinkled loudly when she touched it.  The twine and knots seemed as strong as the day they were first tied. They protected the parcel well but finally yielded to Holly’s determination.  Holly set the twine on the floor next to the plastic bag and turned her attention to the package still on her lap.   
          The untied parcel unwrapped easily to reveal three items within.  Each one was stacked on top of the other.  The first was a plain unmarked piece of parchment folded in thirds.  Beneath it was a sealed envelope about the same size as the folded paper but much thicker.  Both of these rested on top of the third item.  It was larger and thicker than the other two, also wrapped in parchment and tied with more twine.   
          Holly picked up the folded parchment.  She turned the paper over.  It was sealed with bright red wax.  Looking carefully, Holly could make out a fancy calligraphy style letter “D” in the wax.  “D,” thought Holly swiftly.  Who did she know with the letter “D?”  She looked up at Mrs. Figg.  “The person who gave you this,” Holly  began, choosing her words carefully.  She had to word this right so she wouldn’t scare Mrs. Figg into silence.  “Was he rather old with long white hair and white beard?”  
          “I do believe he was,” replied Mrs. Figg being equally careful with her words.  “But long white hair is not uncommon among older people,” she added.  Holly nodded.  What else could she ask, without naming names, which would further identify the person she had in mind?  The person she now suspected _he_ was…  “Was he, perhaps,” Holly said slowly, “in charge of a special school?”  
          Mrs. Figg smiled, remembering.  “He was indeed.”  
 _“Dumbledore!”_ thought Holly with satisfaction. There were no other portraits with long white hair in the Headmaster’s office.  While Cousin Harry was considered a hero, people always referred to Dumbledore as a great wizard.  He must have been smart enough to figure all this out somehow!  
          “In fact,” continued Mrs. Figg interrupting Holly’s thoughts.  “He had come over to tell the family about how the poor boy had gone missing—when he couldn’t find the family either…”  Her voice trailed off.  That memory and accompanying emotions wasn’t nearly as pleasant.  
          Holly broke the seal, and unfolded the paper while Mrs. Figg talked.  Her eyes swiftly moved to the bottom of the page for confirmation of her conclusions.  There was no signature.  She looked at the top of the page and read the message written in an unfamiliar narrow loopy handwriting.

_I regret the situation you find yourself in._  
 _If you wish to try to fix things, you must go_  
 _to the trophy room at Hogwarts School of_  
 _Witchcraft and Wizardry.  The headmaster may help._

_I am sorry I cannot assist you further…_

          As Holly stared at the message, the words on the page gradually faded until she could see nothing on the page, nothing at all.  Disappearing ink!  Just like in the letters she wrote to Vernon!  _Vernon!_   Holly thought with a lump in her throat.  She’d all but forgotten him!  Vernon wouldn’t last long in that room.  It was her fault he was there!  She had to try and rescue him!  
          Holly refolded the paper and set it down on the sofa next to her.   She cleared her throat and looked up at Mrs. Figg, who sat across from her waiting expectantly. “He says,” began Holly, “I must go to, H—uh, that special school.”  
          Mrs. Figg smiled warmly.  “If that’s what he says, then by all means you should go.”  
          “Do you know the way?” asked Holly.   
          Mrs. Figg’s smile faded. “No, dear,” she said sadly.  “I’ve never been there, myself.  Never qualified.  But perhaps we can find you someone who does…”  Her glance fell to the other packages on Holly’s lap.  “What else did he leave you?”  
          Holly lifted the thick rectangular package. It was sealed shut like an envelope but opened easily with her touch.  “Oh, my!” exclaimed Mrs. Figg when Holly revealed the contents.  For inside was a fat wad of money!  Lots and lots of money!  Upon closer inspection they appeared to be mostly small bills—nothing larger than ten-pound note but still, taken collectively, it was quite an impressive stack.   
          “He really tried to help didn’t he?” came Mrs. Figg’s voice sadly.  “But you came too late.”   
          Holly looked up in surprise.  What did Mrs. Figg mean?   
          “That money,” began Mrs. Figg explaining further.  “It’s no good any more.  _He_ wouldn’t have known that when he gave it to me.   For it would have been good then.  But a few years later there was a huge counterfeiting scandal and the currency was changed.  We were all told to bring in our money for verification and then we could exchange it for new money of equal value.  The service was free, of course, but every person who came in with money got recorded.  Those of us who didn’t wish to be recorded couldn’t exchange our money—not at equal value.  I finally found a collector who purchased my bills for a price much lower than their original worth.”   
          Mrs. Figg rose and fetched her bag.  She returned to her seat and started digging through the bag.  She brought out a crumpled bill and handed it to Holly.  Holly straightened it out.  It was a £5 note.  A portrait of Queen Elizabeth II was the central design, but her bust was framed within a bright crimson coloured calligraphy style “V” for Voldemort, no doubt.   
          “The letter,” continued Mrs. Figg while still digging through her bag, “changes colour in different light and different weather; no one’s apparently been able to counterfeit it.  Even the coins have changed,” she added handing Holly a 20 pence coin from her bag.  One side showed a bust of Queen Elizabeth II, and the reverse showed the number “20” framed within that distinctive “V.”  The “V” on the coin was also a crimson colour. “I try to mostly barter, though,” Mrs. Figg added as Holly handed the money back to her. “It makes my skin crawl to touch this money.”  Holly agreed silently.  The coin and paper did feel nasty somehow.  “I think I could find that person who traded my money again,” continued Mrs. Figg thoughtfully.  “We won’t get nearly as much as the actual value but it should be enough to get you started…”   
          “Thank you,” replied Holly solemnly.  
          “Mind you, it could take some time, though,” mused Mrs. Figg.  “I’m not sure where he is now, or if he’s even alive.”  
          “I don’t think I have the time,” said Holly quietly, thinking of Vernon tied in that room.  “You see—”   
          “No details,” interrupted Mrs. Figg.  “What I don’t know, I can’t tell.  We can manage without the money.”   
          Holly nodded and stuffed the money back in the envelope.  As she did so, she felt something hard in the corner that she hadn’t noticed before.  Holly reached in and removed a small object carefully wrapped in tissue.  The tissue had the number “321” written on it.  Then it crumbled and turned to dust as Holly unwrapped the item.  Inside was a tiny golden key!  
          “Do you know what that goes to?” breathed Mrs. Figg staring at the key with wide eyes.  
          Holly nodded staring at the key also.  It gleamed brightly when she held it up to the light.  “I think so,” she said softly, her free hand inadvertently went to her neck to feel for the chain from which a matching key from Gringotts hung.  Cousin Harry had given it and the key to her last year. The chain wasn’t there.  An item of recent magic, the key and chain had remained behind in her own world.  
          “What do you suppose is inside?” asked Mrs. Figg curiously.  
          Holly shook her head.  Wizard gold, most likely, maybe a wand…it could be anything!   “Something to help me, I expect,” she replied finally.  “But I can’t get into Di—” Holly stopped noting the sudden fear in Mrs. Figg’s eyes and emotions, “uh, that alley without a, uh, you know—” and she waved her hand using an imaginary wand.  
          “Of course there are ways in without that!” snorted Mrs. Figg.  “I used to do my shopping there and I never used one of them!  You just have to know where to look!  Of course,” she added thoughtfully, “that was almost thirty years ago so I’m not sure what you’d find today.  But,” she continued cheerfully, “where there’s a will, there is usually a way.  What do you suppose is in that last package?” she asked drawing Holly’s attention to the final parcel in her lap.                
          Holly carefully put the key in her pants pocket, committing the number 321 to memory as she did.  Then she set aside the money and went to work on the knots of the final item.  
          The final package was light, soft and squishy.  The paper and item folded within Holly’s hands and she was able to get the twine off easily without even undoing the knots.  The item within was silvery gray and slippery.  Holly’s fingers clutched at it instinctively to keep it from falling to the ground.  But she wasn’t looking at it—touching it had brought back a flood of memories.   
          Holly knew that feel, recognizing the item in the package: an invisibility cloak!  Holly only knew of only one invisibility cloak.  The last time she had handled that cloak, _this cloak_ , for she doubted any other cloak had that distinctive feeling of water woven into material, was when she handed it back to Cousin James after Leila had broken the Slytherin ward.  James would never willingly give up custody of that cloak; it was a family heirloom.  They were gone!  All of them!  And she’d probably never see them again!  The sense of loss was unbearable.  Tears streamed down Holly’s face.  Part of her always knew something must have happened to them, but feeling the cloak brought that realization to the surface.  All her friends, everything—was no more and maybe never was!  Her family was as good as gone too!  Dad frozen and Vernon— Holly suddenly felt overwhelmed and totally alone.  
          “What’s wrong?” asked Mrs. Figg kindly, noting Holly’s tears.  
          “I can’t do it!” whispered Holly.  “It’s too much!”  
          “Of course you can,” replied Mrs. Figg soothingly, reaching out and holding Holly’s hand.  “ _He_ _knew_ you were coming,” she began confidently giving Holly’s hand a comforting squeeze.  “If he didn’t think you could do it, he wouldn’t have left you these things or asked me to help.”  Though she didn’t really know Holly, Mrs. Figg’s faith in Dumbledore was so strong that she was sure Holly could do whatever task he had set before her.  That confidence filled Mrs. Figg’s very essence and left no room for doubts.   
          Even had she been blocking, which she wasn’t, Holly couldn’t help but sense Mrs. Figg’s overwhelming confidence and become inspired by it.  People spoke highly of Dumbledore, even in Holly’s world.  Dumbledore _had_ obviously known she was coming.  Maybe he knew other things…  Holly now had an invisible cloak and there was the key to Gringotts, if she could only get there…  
          “Tell me,” said Mrs. Figg gently, interrupting Holly’s thoughts, sensing Holly's extreme despair had passed.  “What is it?” she asked looking curiously at the gray cloth on Holly’s lap.  
          “It’s a way,” replied Holly wiping off the tears, “into Di— that alley.”  She carefully tucked the silvery cloak under her shirt as she had seen James do.  Holly had no idea how she was going to do it, but she had to get to Hogwarts and into that trophy room.  She had to bring everyone back!          

********************

          “I suppose,” began Mrs. Figg briskly rising up from her chair, “that as you are about to take a trip, that you should have something to eat first.”  Holly glanced at the tea and stale biscuits.  Mrs. Figg followed her glance while grabbing the paper and plastic on the floor.  Holly set the packet of money on the tea tray and picked up the pieces of twine, helping Mrs. Figg clean up.  “Tea is fine for a simple conversation,” Mrs. Figg continued while crumpling each piece of parchment paper into a tight ball, “but you need something much more substantial for a long trip.  I’ve a nice pot of cabbage soup simmering on the stove that should do nicely, don’t you think?”  Holly nodded.  She was feeling rather hungry.  
          Suddenly a loud knock on the door shook the house.  “OPEN UP!” thundered a voice from outside.  “SECURITY!”  
          Mrs. Figg’s pleasant emotions suddenly turned to fear!  She grabbed the packet of money and shoved it into Holly’s hand.  Grabbing her other hand Mrs. Figg pulled Holly away from the sofa.  “Come along!” she said urgently.  “He mustn’t find you here.  If he finds you he’ll take you away!”  
          “But—” began Holly, struggling to get at her invisible cloak.  But she couldn’t get it with her hands already occupied.   
          “Not a word!” insisted Mrs. Figg pulling Holly into the kitchen.  She slid back one of the table chairs lifted up the afghan tablecloth.  “Under here!” she hissed to Holly.  “Quickly, now!”  
          “But—” tried Holly again.  
          “Don’t speak!” commanded Mrs. Figg pushing Holly down and urging her under the table.  “They’ve _ears!”_ she continued in a whisper _._   “Don’t make a sound!  Not a single sound!”  
          So Holly squished herself under the table between all the legs.  It was a tight fit especially after Mrs. Figg slid the chair back under the table after her.  It added more legs blocking Holly inside like a cage.  Crouched as she was, Holly could get her cloak, but there was no way to put it on quietly  or without moving all the chairs and making considerable noise.   
          “Remember,” admonished Mrs. Figg speaking on the other side of the tablecloth.  “Not a sound!” she hissed at Holly.  “I’M COMING!” she shouted and walked out of the kitchen. 

********************

          The whole house continued to shake from the thunderous pounding on the door.  “I’M COMING!” said Mrs. Figg again from the living room.  “JUST WAIT A BIT!” she shouted as Holly heard her unlatch the various locks at her door.  There were holes in the afghan crochet work but Holly couldn’t see the living room at all from the kitchen.  She kept absolutely silent, barely breathing, and focused all her attention on the next room trying to hear and sense what was going on there.  
          Holly heard the door creak open.  “Officer Polkiss!” said Mrs. Figg in a cheerful voice.  (Her emotions were anything but cheerful.)  “It’s so good of you to visit.  Won’t you come in?” (From the sound of things, he already had.)  
          “That’s “Captain,” to you, Figgy,” came a thundering angry voice.  “Why didn’t you answer the door sooner?”  Captain Polkiss was full of angry suspicious emotions.  
          “I was in the loo, of course,” said Mrs. Figg soothingly.  “Some things take more time when you get to be my age, you know…  But I came as soon as I could.  I’m so glad you could come,” she added in a cheerful voice.  “We were just having some tea.  Would you like to join us?  It isn’t often that we get company for tea,” Mrs. Figg continued conversationally not waiting for an answer, “I’ve some photos of my cats I can share with you while we chat.  I’ll just fetch you a cup…”  
          “I’m not here for tea!” said Captain Polkiss impatiently.  “Or cats!  I’m here on business!” he continued importantly.  “I’m looking for someone!” he began.  
          “And you just found someone,” interjected Mrs. Figg warmly.  
          “Where?” demanded Captain Polkiss.  
          “Here!” said Mrs. Figg.  Then she added with a proud note to her voice, “Me!”  
          “Not you,” said Captain Polkiss in frustration, “a stranger!  I got a report there was a stranger in the neighborhood.”  
          “Oh, dear!” said Mrs. Figg with concern.  
          “Wait a minute,” came the voice of Captain Polkiss, his emotions confused, “what are you doing?”  And Holly could hear the distinctive sound of the door latches being fastened.  
          “Locking the house, of course,” replied Mrs. Figg.  “I don’t want any strangers to come in.  They could be dangerous!  Are you sure you wouldn’t like some tea while you wait?”  
          “What do you mean while I wait?”              
          “I don’t want you out there when there are strangers about,” said Mrs. Figg in a motherly tone.  “You could get hurt!”  
          “That’s my job! Figgy,” Captain Polkiss growled.  “I’m supposed to check out things like that!”  
          “Oh, yes!” replied Mrs. Figg.  “I remember you telling me that once.  That’s so very brave of you.  Why don’t you sit down and tell me all about this stranger…”  
          “I think I’ll stand,” came the reply with a hint of disgust.  The emotions reflected uncertainty.  “Wait a minute,” continued the voice, “what are all those cups doing about?”  
          “I said we were having tea, remember?  I do so hate having tea alone!”  
          “Who were you having tea with?”  
          “My babies, of course,” said Mrs. Figg.  “Mittens, Boots, Poopsey, Tiger and Snowball.  Who else?”  
          _“Snowball!”_ said Captain Polkiss explosively and Holly felt a sudden flash of guilt.  She guessed that Captain Polkiss must have been the person who had tossed Snowball in the garbage.   
          “Yes, I know you said you saw him with a lady cat,” said Mrs. Figg, “but he’s bound to come home soon.  He’s such a good cat.  I always set a place for him when we have tea. I don’t want him to feel left out when he returns.”  
          “Oh,” said Captain Polkiss in a disconcerted voice.  “Uh, I got a report that there was a stranger in the neighborhood…”  
          “There are lots of strangers in the neighborhood,” murmured Mrs. Figg agreeably.  “Little lost kittens, they are,” she added sadly, “with no homes or families…”  
          “Yes, well, I’m looking for one in particular that was seen lurking around the Dursley place and then apparently went off in this direction with someone…  It was possibly a young girl.  Have you seen anyone?”  
          “Why yes I have!” came the warm reply, a voice eager to help.  “And it was definitely a young girl.  Or was it a boy?” Mrs. Figg’s voice changed to one of befuddlement.  “You never can tell these days…”  
          “When?” asked Captain Polkiss with intent interest.  
          “Just this morning, I believe, or was it yesterday…  no, I’m sure it was this morning that I saw him, right after you told me about Snowball…”   
          Captain Polkiss stamped his foot in frustration.  “I told you about Snowball over a year ago!!!”  
          “You did?” Mrs. Figg sounded dismayed.  “Oh, well, maybe I didn’t see him this morning.  I get my days mixed up so… I wonder where he is?”  
         “That’s why I’m here—to find out what happened to him.”  
          “But you said he ran off with another cat!” protested Mrs. Figg sounding confused.  
          “Who?”  
          “Snowball, of course!  Isn’t that what you said?”  
          “Uh, yes, I did, but I’m not here about your cat, I’m here looking for that strange boy.”  
          “Oh, why didn’t you say so,” came Mrs. Figg’s reply, “I don’t know what happened to him.  He mumbled something about cat allergies and ran off without so much as a “Goodbye!”  Never even gave me his name!  Young people have absolutely no manners these days.  But perhaps you should have a look around anyway, Captain.  I’d feel much safer if you did.  Maybe he came back and crawled through a window when I was having my tea and I didn’t realize it.  It wouldn’t do to have a young ruffian hiding in my house.”  Holly heard heavy footsteps coming nearer.   
          “Check my bedroom, first, please,” directed Mrs. Figg and the heavy footsteps moved into one of the other rooms of the house.  “And be sure to look under the bed,” she reminded him.  “I wouldn’t rest easy at all tonight if you didn’t.”  
          Amid the various sounds of doors being opened, Holly suddenly felt something warm and soft touch her—her heart gave a lurch and she gave a soft gasp nearly squealing before she realized that one of the cats had crawled under the afghan and joined her!  It was Boots; she had settled down in a crouch between Holly’s legs.  Her tail twitched restlessly.  _“Go away!”_ Holly thought in a panic and tried to push the cat out from under the afghan.  _“There’s barely enough space for me!”_   But Boots merely shoved back refusing to go.  
          Then it was too late to get the cat out.  Holly could hear the heavy footsteps of Captain Polkiss and the lighter ones of Mrs. Figg coming towards the kitchen.  “Actually, it occurs to me that you are absolutely right in not having tea with me,” chattered Mrs. Figg as they walked.   
          “Oh?” said Captain Polkiss distractedly.  Holly watched the heavier figure of Captain Polkiss through the holes in the afghan as he came into view and stomped around the kitchen. Holly could only see the legs; of course, she didn’t dare look higher than the table.  His pants and shoes were all black with no markings of any kind.  Every so often the legs paused and Holly could hear the sound of cupboard doors opening.   
          “It’s close to the noon hour,” continued Mrs. Figg.  “Wouldn’t you like a nice bowl of cabbage soup instead?  I could dish some up for both of us in a jiffy.”  She moved swiftly to one of the cupboards, opened it and proceeded to take out some dishes.  “I’ve a placemat set out for you already!” she added proudly putting the bowls on the table.  
          “I don’t want any soup!” said Captain Polkiss standing in front of the table.  Holly caught a sense of disgust from him and guessed he was looking at all the dust on the table.   
          “You sure?” said Mrs. Figg sounding disappointed.   “It wouldn’t be any trouble at all to feed you.  It’s the least I can do for all your help.”  
          “What are these for?” Holly heard him ask.  
          “Bird watching,” replied Mrs. Figg firmly.  “See the tree outside the kitchen window?  The birds like it.  They’re not very strong but it’s all I can afford,” she continued regretfully obviously referring to the binoculars.  
          Captain Polkiss was bending down as she spoke.  His meaty hand held some sort of heavy black stick.  Holly could feel strong suspicion emanating from him.   
          “Are you sure I couldn’t talk you into a bowl of soup?” asked Mrs. Figg wistfully from behind him.  “It’s really quite good and I do so hate to eat alone…”  
          “No!” replied Captain Polkiss, his voice ever closer now.  Any second now, he was going to lift the edge of the afghan!  Holly quietly squished herself as flat as possible against the wall and table legs. She wished heartily she could have gotten her cloak on…  The stick touched the floor and then swept up in a curve collecting the folds of the afghan with it; there was no way he wouldn’t see her once he lifted the afghan…  
          In an explosion of energy Boots leaped out of the gap the stick made!  Captain Polkiss fell back in surprise landing on the floor dropping his stick and the afghan in the process.   
          “Oh, Boots, you silly thing,” admonished Mrs. Figg with a laugh.  “You mustn’t disturb the Captain while he’s working.  If you want to play, let me get you something more appropriate.”  Mrs. Figg moved to the counter and Holly heard the sound of something falling to the floor.  Venturing a look, she saw a crumpled ball of parchment paper skittering to the wall.  Boots chased after it immediately batting the ball from one wall to another.  Tiger came in and joined the action vying with Boots for the improvised ball.  
          “I love to watch them play,” said Mrs. Figg in a contented voice.  “It’s so relaxing…  Oh, my—let me help you up!” she added turning her attention to Captain Polkiss.  
          “That won’t be necessary,” said Captain Polkiss pulling himself up.  He was radiating embarrassment.  
          Mrs. Figg reached down, got his stick and handed it to him.  “You wait right there,” she told him, “I’ve something in the bedroom I can use to brush you off.”  Looking through the holes again, Holly could see Captain Polkiss’ pant legs had picked up both dust and numerous light coloured cat hairs from the floor.  Mrs. Figg bustled off to the bedroom.   
          “I don’t want your help!” said Captain Polkiss brushing himself off but as far as Holly could tell he only succeeded to spread the hairs and dust around more.   
          “Nonsense!” said Mrs. Figg returning.  “You wouldn’t need brushing if Boots hadn’t scared you so.”  She stood close to him and Holly heard the scraping sounds of a brush on his clothes, but Captain Polkiss pushed her off.   
          “I can take care of it myself!” he insisted backing away from her.  “I’ve got to go now, anyway,” he added moving into the other room.  “I’ve other houses to check.”  
          “You can’t go!” protested Mrs. Figg.  Holly heard the distinctive sounds of the latches being unfastened while she talked.  “You haven’t checked the loo for me yet!  What if a stranger is hiding in wait for me there?”  
          “He isn’t,” replied Captain Polkiss firmly, and Holly heard the door open.  “He’s obviously smarter than that!”  
          “Don’t go!” said Mrs. Figg shouting out the door.  “We haven’t had any tea yet!  Please, come back!” she added in a pleading voice. “Please?” Mrs. Figg's voice came out softer, like the whimper of a lonely person longing for a bit of company.  Then there was silence.  After a while Holly heard the door close.  Both she and Mrs. Figg breathed a huge sigh of relief. 

********************

          When she heard Mrs. Figg refasten all the latches, Holly started to crawl out from under the table but Tiger and Boots hissed and blocked her way.  “Don’t come out yet,” said Mrs. Figg coming into the kitchen.   “Sometimes they return when you think they’re gone.  The cats will let you know when it’s safe.”  So Holly waited until the cats stopped hissing and returned to their usual affectionate selves.  Then she crawled out from under the table and embraced both cats with a warm hug.  “Oh, Boots!” she whispered stroking her lovingly.  “You beautiful, beautiful cat!  I thought for sure he’d find me!  And you too, Tiger,” she added devoting attention to him as well, “keeping him distracted so!  You’re both wonderful!”  
          “I’d be lost without my babies,” said Mrs. Figg approvingly.  “Now, why don’t you go into the living room where there’s no windows and I’ll bring you something to eat.   
          Holly nodded and went into the living room.  She collected all the teacups and saucers but hers and Mrs. Figg’s and returned them to the tray.   
          Mrs. Figg came in carrying a plate and bowl filled with hot cabbage soup.  A slice of dark brown bread lay on the plate to go with the soup.  She handed Holly the plate and left with the tea tray.  Mrs. Figg returned a few minutes later and sat across from Holly with her teacup in hand.  “Eat up,” she told Holly.  Holly hesitated.  “But what about you?” she asked.  It didn’t seem right to eat alone.   
          “Oh, no, dear,” explained Mrs. Figg after taking a sip of the cold tea.  “I’ll be eating in the kitchen, as usual.  It doesn’t do to change my routine too much, you see, someone may be watching.”  Holly nodded silently and dipped her spoon into the soup.  The soup was thick and flavorful.  It tasted positively wonderful and Holly told Mrs. Figg so.  Mrs. Figg smiled.  “I’m glad you like it,’ she replied warmly smiling, enjoying Holly’s obviously sincere compliment.  “Not everyone can appreciate a good cabbage soup.”  Holly nodded in agreement and continued to eat hungrily.   
          Mrs. Figg sipped her tea and waited calmly until Holly had finished her soup before speaking.  “You were seen!” she began, stating the obvious.  Holly nodded.  “And they sent Piers to check on things.”  
          “Piers?” questioned Holly.  
          “The Security man,” explained Mrs. Figg.  “That’s Piers Polkiss.  He grew up in this neighborhood.  In fact, he used to be rather good friends with, with that other boy who lived at that house.”  
          _“Other boy?”_ thought Holly quickly.  She couldn’t mean Cousin Harry; he was _"that poor boy who went missing…”_    Who else?  Dad???  Holly thought again of the emotions she had felt from Officer Polkiss.  They hadn’t been very nice.  If they had been friends, would Dad have turned out that way had he not moved?  
          “Piers alone is easily distracted,” continued Mrs. Figg taking another sip of tea.  “With luck they’ll accept his findings and pay no more attention to the initial report and assume you were just one of the many homeless out on the street these days passing through.”  Mrs. Figg set down her cup and saucer on her lap.  “They may, however, attach more importance to the report considering the location where you were first observed and make a more thorough search.  If that’s the case, then Piers’ll come back.  And he won’t be alone…”  Mrs. Figg fixed her blue eyes on Holly.  “I’m afraid you are no longer safe in this house—at least not for very long,” she said gravely.   
          Holly nodded.  She couldn’t stay here long anyway, not if she wanted to try to save Vernon.   
          “Unfortunately,” continued Mrs. Figg, “we’re being watched.  Piers’ visit proves that.  Maybe not this house specifically, but we’re still being watched.  I’m not sure how to get you out and on your way without you being seen…”  
          Holly set her plate with its empty bowl down on the coffee table and cleared her throat.  “Um, I think,” she began tentatively, “I may have a solution to that problem…”  
          “Have you?” beamed Mrs. Figg.  
          “Um, yes,” replied Holly.  “The, ah, thing I was going to use to get into that, uh, alley?”  
          “Yes?”  
          “Well, I should be able to use it here too...”  
          “Excellent!” said Mrs. Figg happily.  “Then I think we have a few plans to make…”

********************

          The rest of the afternoon passed quickly.  When Holly confessed she was not familiar with the area, Mrs. Figg drew maps for her on cabbage leaves paying special attention to the location of bus and train stations and insisted Holly memorize them.  The maps were then chopped up and added to Mrs. Figg’s pot of cabbage soup.  Mrs. Figg also had Holly memorize directions from the station to Diagon Alley, also written on cabbage leaves.  Street names didn’t seem to bother Mrs. Figg too much when written in catsup or mustard, as long as they weren’t spoken aloud.  Unfortunately, Mrs. Figg didn’t know any timetables or prices of public transportation and she believed that to make inquiries now would bring about undue attention.   
          “Couldn’t we just use the phone, call and ask?” inquired Holly.  “We wouldn’t have to give our names or anything…”  
          “Oh, no!” replied Mrs. Figg fearfully.  “I don’t have a telephone.  To keep your telephone, you had to give your name and I couldn’t risk being noticed.”  
          Mrs. Figg dug around in her things and brought out an old hooded sweatshirt which she insisted Holly pull on over her top. “We’re so lucky that the “ _poor boy who went missing_ ” accidentally left this sweatshirt behind one day,” said Mrs. Figg as she helped Holly put it on.   “I always meant to return it,” she added wistfully, “but other things happened and he never came back…”  The sweatshirt was muddy gray in colour and a bit large for Holly but Mrs. Figg insisted that wearing it would not only provide extra warmth during the night, but help Holly’s appearance fit in better with the other homeless people roaming the streets.  
          Then she found an old tin of shoe polish.  “They’re looking for someone with blonde hair,” Mrs. Figg told Holly as she brushed the polish into Holly’s hair staining it a muddy brown.  Next, she parted Holly’s hair and plaited it into two neat braids totally changing Holly’s appearance. “It’s not perfect,” Mrs. Figg said when she finished while surveying her efforts, “but it should pass at a distance…”  
          While Mrs. Figg didn’t have a knapsack such as she had seen the young people carry, she did find a rather large green print bag with a shoulder strap, which she gave to Holly.  Then she proceeded to fill it with various non perishable type food items, a loaf of dry bread, the biscuits left over from the tea, a bag of raisins, a couple of apples, some cheese, a small jar of cabbage soup and a jar of water to drink.  Mrs. Figg didn’t have any water bottles.  “You needn’t go to all this trouble,” protested Holly guessing there wasn’t a lot of food to spare in the house.  “What’ll you eat?”   
          “Nonsense,” replied Mrs. Figg.  “My soup will last me a while and I know where to get more, besides we haven’t time to bargain for food for you…”  
          Finally, Mrs. Figg handed Holly a quantity of small bills and coins.  “I can’t take your money!” protested Holly realizing it was probably all she had.   
         “I insist!” replied Mrs. Figg firmly.  “You’re going to need it.  Besides,” she added, “I’m not broke.  I have all of the _other money_ to trade.”  Mrs. Figg had wrapped Dumbledore’s money carefully in plastic, tied it with twine and placed it in her hiding place under the sand in the litter box.  “I’ll be fine.”  So Holly stuffed the money in her pants pockets.  
          When preparations were pretty much finished, Mrs. Figg laid a hand on Holly’s shoulder and said:  “It’s dusk, dear.  Time for me to let the cats out.”  
          “O.K.,” said Holly, “Then I’d better get going then.”  She grabbed the strap of her bag and started to reach under her shirt for the invisible cloak.  
          “No,” said Mrs. Figg quietly.  “I’ll let the cats out on my own like I always do.”   
          “But,” said Holly confused, “oughtn’t I be going out with them?”  
          “No, not now” replied Mrs. Figg.  “You ought to get some sleep.  It’s been a long day and you need some rest before you get started.  I let the cats in at dawn.  That’s when you’ll leave.”  
          “But, Security?” questioned Holly.  “Shouldn’t I leave tonight when it’s dark?”  
          “You’ll have to spend the night somewhere,” replied Mrs. Figg gently.  “Where would you spend it if you left here?  Besides, there’s a curfew,” she added.  “People found on the streets after dark are picked up and taken away.  Even if you were not seen, it would be an uncomfortable night.  Better you start your journey rested and with your wits about you.  
          “Don’t worry,” Mrs. Figg continued reassuringly.  “The cats will keep watch tonight.  They’ll notify us if there’s anything we need worry about.  Now, while I let the cats out, why don’t you get yourself ready for bed?”  Holly nodded reluctantly and cleared off the sofa.  Mrs. Figg returned after letting the cats out and brought Holly a thick blanket.  When Holly was ready, she draped the blanket over Holly tucking it in and making sure Holly would be warm enough for the night.  “Sweet dreams,” Mrs. Figg told Holly and turned out the light.  “I’ll wake you when it’s time.”  Then she quietly left the room.

********************

          Holly stared moodily at the ceiling as she lay on the sofa.  _“Sweet dreams,”_ she thought glumly.  She couldn’t even remember the last time she had had a dream that didn’t scare her, let alone one that was “sweet.”  Usually, the best Holly could hope for was a night without dreams.  Holly stretched out her toes while lying on the sofa.  Normally, she slept with her shoes on, just in case, but there didn’t seem any point to that now.  “Just in case” had happened and Holly would willingly give up a pair of shoes if things would only return to the way they were.  She would even happily go to some other boarding school, if only she had her family back…  Holly sighed.  She doubted any of that would happen, not now.   
          Seeking some semblance of normalcy, Holly resolutely started clearing her mind practicing Occlumency as she did every night.  It wasn’t easy to fill it with things she loved, her family and friends, they were all gone and the thought made her sadder still—  
          _"Becky!"—_ Holly thought suddenly. Becky’s parents were Muggle.  Maybe they had avoided all this somehow!  But how could she find out?  While Holly knew Becky’s address and her parents’ names, Mrs. Figg had no phone.  Perhaps Holly could find a public telephone in the town tomorrow… but that would have to wait.  
          Holly shoved thoughts of Becky aside and returned to Occlumency.  Exhausted, Holly finally fell asleep while thinking of an affectionate Boots, who had unexpectedly saved the day.


	5. Chapter 5

          A hand touched Holly’s shoulder and gently shook it.  “It’s time,” said Mrs. Figg softly.  For a moment, Holly thought she was back at Hogwarts with Mrs. Figg, the Caretaker, waking her because she had fallen asleep in some inappropriate place.  Then the memories came rushing back, Vernon!  Dad!  the house!  Polkiss!  Boots!  Holly rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up.  Feeling around in the dark, Holly found her shoes and hastily put them on.  
          Mrs. Figg waited quietly while Holly pulled the sweatshirt over her head and straightened out her braids.  Then she put a spoon and a bowl of cabbage soup in Holly’s hand.  Holly ate automatically not yet awake enough to be hungry.  Though cold, the soup tasted fairly spicy, no doubt due to all that mustard added the previous day.  
          “Ready?” asked Mrs. Figg after Holly had visited the loo and splashed some water on her face.  
          “I guess so,” replied Holly uncertainly while lifting the already packed bag and placing its strap over her shoulder.   
          “Then I’d best be getting the cats,” said Mrs. Figg turning towards the door.  “Good-bye, dear, and good luck.”  
          “Good-bye,” said Holly.  Impulsively she caught Mrs. Figg’s hand holding her back.  “Thank you,” she whispered giving Mrs. Figg a tight hug.  
          “No problem, dear,” replied Mrs. Figg hugging her back.  Holly hugged Mrs. Figg again, afraid to let go.  About to leave the shelter of the house, Holly suddenly felt alone and scared.  
          “Everything is going to be O.K.,” Mrs. Figg assured Holly sensing her fear and uncertainty.  She stepped back from Holly and looked her in the eyes.  “Remember,” Mrs. Figg added confidently, “if _he_ didn’t think you could do it, he wouldn’t have asked…”  
          Holly could barely see the outline of Mrs. Figg’s face but her words and emotions could be easily heard and felt.  They gave Holly the confidence to face the unknown outside. “You’d better fetch the cats now,” Holly said looking down to hide the tears in her eyes.  She was scared but resolved to go forward.  How could she be any less brave than Mrs. Figg, who had lived over twenty years in this nightmare world?  Mrs. Figg nodded and walked towards the door.   
          When Mrs. Figg’s back was turned Holly carefully drew out the invisible cloak and threw it over her head.  By unspoken agreement, Mrs. Figg would neither see the method Holly used to leave unobserved nor would she actually see Holly leave the house.  That way Mrs. Figg could be honestly unable to relate this information to anyone else if asked.  
          Mrs. Figg unlatched the numerous locks and opened the door.  She stepped outside leaving the door open behind her.  “Boots!” she called, “Tiger!  Poopsey!  Prince! Snowball!  Time to come in now!”  Daylight had scarcely begun.  Holly slipped out silently behind Mrs. Figg through the open door.  The world was mostly gray and dark outside.  Holly watched her feet and the ground carefully as she cautiously moved forward to make sure she didn’t trip or stumble.  Mrs. Figg stepped off the paved pathway and onto the lawn.  “Here kitty, kitty,” she called.  “Breakfast!” Holly tiptoed down the empty pathway.  She reached the edge of the yard and turned onto the sidewalk in the direction of the main part of the town.  “Come on, kitties, where are you?” shouted Mrs. Figg.  Her voice covered any sounds Holly might make while passing.   
          Holly continued walking without looking back stopping briefly when she noted some silent shapes gliding forward.  The cats!  They had been keeping watch and were returning now that Holly was safely away from the house.  Holly longed to ask one of the cats to come along and keep her company, but didn’t.  They would connect her with Mrs. Figg, and from Mrs. Figg to the house that had mysteriously disappeared…  That was too risky.  So Holly walked on alone while hidden beneath her cloak.

********************

          Slowly the grays and white of dawn brightened into regular colours.  Holly continued walking towards the center of town.  She watched the street signs carefully hoping that the street names, and in particular, the location of the bus station, had not changed in twenty years…  She didn’t remember much of Little Whinging when the family had driven here, (was that only yesterday?) but it didn’t look all that different from other towns Holly had visited.  The private residences gradually vanished; more and more of the buildings contained stores and businesses.  Holly noted the usual trash and grime one would expect along the streets.  She easily avoided the occasional people of various ages that also walked or jogged on the sidewalks in the early morning.  The few cars and bicycles on the road gradually increased in numbers as the day progressed.  
          Suddenly something swooped overhead missing Holly by inches!  Holly looked on in amazement as something that looked like a cross between a motorcycle and a broomstick flew out of sight.  It was totally black as was the figure riding it.  No one paid any particular attention to it.  Some movement caught the corner of Holly’s eye and she ducked in time being narrowly missed by a second black broom combo.  This time Holly got a better glimpse as it passed; there was a bright red “S” emblazoned on the side of the vehicle.  The rider wore a red armband with a black “S” on it.  That must be the Security Mrs. Figg spoke of.  Nearly silent in flight, the Security people did not confine their travel to the streets and wove confidently in and out between the pedestrians on the sidewalks.   
          Holly decided it might be safer to be seen than risk being crashed into by a Security vehicle whose rider was unaware of her presence.  Accordingly, she stepped into a quiet, unoccupied alley.  Looking carefully about to make sure no one was near Holly moved behind a dumpster and removed her invisibility cloak.  Immediately Holly felt the emotions of the people on the street.  The invisibility cloak had blocked such things for her before.  Holly mentally double-checked that she was alone before carefully folding and tucking her cloak securely under her shirt.  
          Feeling very exposed and vulnerable, Holly cautiously stepped back on the main sidewalk.  Would the other people out there notice?  Would they realize she was a stranger and different?  But Holly didn’t sense any emotions of surprise or interest at her presence.  While Holly stood still surveying the situation, the walking people continued on their way moving neatly around her without breaking their stride.  Taking a step of her own Holly hesitantly joined the rest of the pedestrians.  Intent on his or her own affairs, no one seemed to pay any particular attention to Holly.  With every step Holly felt more confident.  For now, at least, Holly seemed to blend in with the crowd.  When a third black broom and Security person swooped past weaving around Holly along with the other people Holly breathed a huge sigh of relief.  Mrs. Figg’s disguise was definitely working!  Holly picked up her pace; she still had a bus station to find.

********************

          An hour later Holly spotted a large bus sign hanging over a set of double doors.  She stood outside across the street from it for a while just observing.  People came in and out without hesitation.  No one seemed to be guarding the door or watching things.  It looked safe enough.  Readjusting her shoulder strap, Holly carefully crossed the street.  She walked up to the entrance, took a deep breath and opened the door.  
          A ticket counter was placed prominently across from the door.  A uniformed man sat at the counter looking and feeling rather bored.  Large bulletin boards stood on either side of the counter with all sorts of schedules posted.  Checking the clock on the wall, Holly walked forward and carefully studied the schedules.  
          When she was ready, she stood in line behind two other people and waited her turn.   
          “May I help you?” asked the man selling tickets when Holly reached the front of the line.  
          “Yes,” said Holly placing most of her meager supply of money on the counter.  “I would like two tickets to Thorpe, please.”  Thorpe was not Holly’s actual destination.  But it passed through Egham and Egham had a train station with trains that ran to London…  Holly intended to get off at Egham.   
          Mrs. Figg made Holly promise to not give away her actual destination at the train station.  “They have eyes everywhere,” she insisted.  Holly thought it a waste of money to purchase two tickets, but Mrs. Figg insisted otherwise.  She assured Holly that she was too young to be traveling alone.  A single ticket would attract unwanted attention upon Holly.  Buying two tickets would imply a traveling companion…  For a while, Holly considered just using her cloak and sneaking onto the bus, but decided things would be too cramped.  A passenger trying to sit down on what appeared to be an empty seat, bumping into someone that wasn’t there; it would be too easy to get discovered.  Far better to use the cloak while on the train where there would be more places to keep out of the way.  
          As it was, the ticket man raised an eyebrow at Holly when he saw she stood alone in line.  Holly noticed his glance.  “Um, my mum’s in the loo,” she stated softly answering his unspoken question.  “She wasn’t feeling too well…”  He nodded briefly and placed two tickets and her change on the counter.  “Platform C,” he informed her.  “It will be leaving in about 40 minutes.”  
          “Thank you,” said Holly looking again at the clock on the wall and noting the time.  She reached out with her hands getting both the tickets and the change and hastily shoved it all in a slim compartment in her bag zipping it up afterwards.  Then she moved away from the counter and went into the parking area in back to find Platform C.   
          There were five platforms.  The air smelled heavily of exhaust fumes.  Gray grime coated the walls and floor. Despite the usual trashcans placed at strategic locations, bits of trash and garbage was scattered all around.  A bus was leaving Platform A and another was pulling into platform D.  People were getting off the third bus at Platform E.  There was no bus in front of Platform C.   
          Holly sat down at the bench across from her Platform.  She pulled out an apple from her bag and began to eat it while looking around. People intent on catching their desired buses passed swiftly on either side paying no attention to her.  They carried an assortment of bags and briefcases reassuring Holly that her own small bag would not seem out of place.   
          A huge poster on one wall showed a young handsome proud looking man wearing a tailored all black uniform with red trim.  He stood against a collage backdrop showing a tearful mother and child, an exploding building, a vicious looking man wearing a mask entering a window, and an exploding airplane.  The caption said, “Security Protects Us All!”  “Security,” mused Holly studying the person on the poster.  “Was that how Polkiss looked?”  
          Holly noted a sign indicating the location of the public bathrooms.  On one of the walls next to it was a public pay telephone.  On the opposite wall was a sturdy looking black door marked with a prominent red “S.”  Even firmly closed, it looked ominous somehow.  It could be her imagination, but Holly thought the “S” looked suspiciously like a snake.  
          When she finished her apple, Holly pulled out her jar of water and took a long drink before replacing it back in her bag.  Then she got up and walked to a garbage bin.  She threw away the apple core and took the opportunity to visit the WC.  Noting she still had some time when she got out, Holly moved casually over to the telephone.  Fishing out some coins, she placed one in the slot and dialed the operator.  
          “I’d like the number of a Mr. Charles Smith,” she told the operator.  “They live in Brundon outside of Sudbury, Suffolk,” she added.  
          “I’m sorry,” the operator told her after a moment.  “But there are no “Smiths” living in Sudbury.”  
          “None?” whispered Holly in shock.  
          “None,” confirmed the operator confidently.  “Would you like me to check another town?”  
          “No, thank you,” replied Holly hanging up the telephone.  She returned thoughtfully to her bench and sat down.  Becky had lots of relatives.  Aunts, Uncles, Cousins…  They had all lived in and around Sudbury and, according to Becky, had done so for years, generations!  They would have never moved!  What could have happened to them all?  
 _“You would not be at this school if you were a filthy little Mudblood!  You and your Muggle family would be rotting away in Azkaban Prison where you’d belong!”_   Unbidden, the words Tom Richards had said to her two years ago, the Tom Richards of _this_ world, came to mind.  They hadn’t meant much at the time as Holly didn’t yet know about the _Time Reverse Curse_ , but now…  Holly felt cold all over.  She suddenly didn’t want to know what had happened to the Smiths, was afraid she already knew…  Holly buried her head in her hands and wept soundlessly for the friend she didn’t have…  Then Holly thought of her parents and of Vernon, who had spent the night tied to a chair with no food, and cried some more.  She _had_ to get to Hogwarts and fix this; she just had to!  
          A bus pulled up to Platform C and parked.  The engine shut down.  Its doors opened and several passengers stepped out.  Other people lined up to one side waiting for their turn to get on.  Holly sniffed a couple of times, used her sleeve to wipe the tears off her face and pushed the stray stands of hair out of her face.  Then she pulled out a ticket, adjusted her bag on her shoulder and stood to join the line.  
          Finally it was her turn to board the bus.  The bus driver barely gave Holly a glance when she handed him her ticket.  He moved his eyes swiftly to the ticket of the next passenger boarding.  Relieved, Holly moved down the narrow aisle, found an empty seat near a window and sat down.  She placed her bag on her lap, leaned back and closed her eyes.  Now, all she had to do was keep track of the stops and get out at Egham…  The time to leave drew near.  The bus driver started the engine letting it warm up.  
          As she sat waiting for the bus to leave, the atmosphere of the people on the bus suddenly changed to one of apprehension.  Holly looked up and out her window seeking the cause.  She saw two men dressed in black walking through the crowds below.  Both wore stiff black hats and shiny black boots.  The black hats had a blood red oval in the center with a black “S” imprinted on them.  Each man wore a crimson armband with a black “S” on it.  Their uniforms were trimmed with matching red piping on the collars and cuffs.  Security!  The man in front was fairly tall with short yellow hair.  The man behind him was a bit shorter and a bit heavier.  He had short black hair and a small black moustache.  Both men strode purposefully towards the platforms.  People backed quickly out of their way as they walked.    
          Quickly Holly reviewed her own activities.  Had she done anything wrong?  Had she aroused anyone’s suspicions?  No!  Holly had spent the whole time unblocked.  She would have known had someone become suspicious of her for whatever reason.   
          The Security men stopped in front of Holly’s bus.  Without speaking a word and without hesitation, the taller blond haired man entered the bus while the other man stood guard at the doors.  This was clearly a practiced maneuver.  Unlike everyone else, Holly had never seen the Security men in action and did not know what to expect.  Like the rest of the passengers, however, Holly wondered fearfully why they had come.  The man strode silently past the bus driver and began slowly walking down the aisle.  He was confidant, arrogant, proud and very scary—a Slytherin all the way.  The man carefully scrutinized each seated passengers.  He was looking for someone.   
          Then his glance fell upon Holly.  Satisfaction filled his very being.  Holly froze!  He had found the person he was looking for and knew it!  The man moved forward confidently stopping in front of Holly’s seat.  “You!” he demanded in a loud angry voice.  “Where are your travel papers?”  
          “What?” squeaked Holly, looking at the man in surprise.  His cold blue eyes bored straight through her.  Nobody else had been asked to produce travel papers?  Why had he singled her out?   “I, ah,” she sputtered, not knowing how to answer.  
          The man did not wait for an answer; he hadn’t been expecting one.  Instead, he reached over and gripped Holly firmly under her armpit lifting her up.  Holly’s bag slid from her lap.  Almost by reflex, she grabbed it as the man pulled her out of the seat.  “Come along with me,” he growled.  “You’re in violation of Security Code 6703 of the Traveling Regulations!”  Holly could tell immediately that there was no Code 6703.  But the other passengers clearly did not.   
          “He’s lying!” Holly protested.  But the other passengers merely watched.  They had all begun to relax when he started talking to Holly.  
          “Ow!” complained Holly as he dragged her into the aisle.  “You’re hurting me!”  
          The man ignored her cries and continued to pull Holly by the arm down the aisle to the door.  Holly squirmed and twisted, mostly in pain, but the man refused to relax his grip and she was unable to break free.  Immense relief filled the other passengers as she passed.  There was also a smattering of pity, but no one lifted a hand to stop the man or help her.  The two reached the front and the man literally dragged Holly down the stairs and out of the bus.   
          The second Security man was waiting below for them.  Without permitting Holly to regain her footing he snatched her bag from her and grabbed Holly tightly under her armpit lifting her nearly off her feet.  The first man let go and moved behind Holly.  Placing his hand on her shoulder he gripped it tightly preventing Holly from ducking or breaking away.  Then he used his other hand to grab her opposite wrist.  He jerked Holly’s arm back twisting the wrist painfully as he pulled bending her arm behind her.   
          “Come along,” he told her coldly.  Then he twisted Holly’s arm up and back while pushing her ahead.  Holly gasped in pain as she stumbled forward.  The man gave Holly no opportunity to catch her breath or speak.  Her arm felt like it would break any minute if she didn’t keep moving in the desired direction!  Without another word, he then proceeded to force Holly off the platform.  The other man followed behind with her bag.  
          Holly couldn’t think clearly because of the pain!  The hands that dug into her arm and shoulder dug in even deeper when she struggled, increasing her pain.  The Security men didn’t slow or stop their pace.  At one point Holly lost her footing and he immediately jerked her up and dragged her along. They headed swiftly towards the black door.  People quickly stepped out of their way as they moved.   
          When the trio reached the wall, the black door opened.  Hot steam hissed out obscuring the interior.  The man twisted Holly’s arm up even higher still causing her to cry out in pain and propelled her into the room.  The second man followed.  When all three were well inside the door closed silently behind them.

********************

          The steam vanished immediately revealing a small bare windowless room, more like a cubicle lit by a single flaming torch stuck in the ceiling.  A huge black calligraphy style “V” decorated each of the four blood red walls.  But Holly noticed none of that.  As soon as the door had closed, the blond man released his hold and pushed Holly violently forward causing her to slam into the wall.  Holly’s head smashed against the hard surface with a loud “thunk” and she slid to the floor. “Where’s your wand?” he demanded.   
          Her head pounded.  Too stunned to move, Holly said nothing.  
          “Answer me, you lousy Non!” he shouted.  “ _Crucio_!”  
          Holly screamed!  The pain was excruciating.  She had known it was coming but there had been no place to dodge.  Hot needles of fire pierced every nerve in her body.  In her agony Holly curled into a tight ball.  Then it stopped.  Through a haze of receding pain Holly saw the blond man’s face as he knelt down close to her his own wand pointing threateningly at her eyes.  “Shall we try again?” he questioned softly.  “Where is your wand?”  
          “I don’t have a wand,” Holly managed to gasp.  
          The man frowned.  “That is not the answer I wanted to hear,” he said gently; he was not upset.  He was in total control.   
          “No!” Holly screeched desperately sensing he was getting ready to cast another curse.  “I had one,” she admitted, “but I lost it just yesterday! I swear!”  That was true enough. “Please!” Holly entreated not wanting a repeat of the _Cruciatus Curse_.  
          The man stood up disgustedly.  “We shall see if you’re lying soon enough,” he said stepping back.  “Scan her, Higgs!” he directed the other man.  The man tossed Holly’s bag onto the floor next to her.  Holly heard the distinctive clunk of breaking glass just before she felt her whole body go rigid from some sort of spell.  It lasted but a moment and then her limbs went limp.  Holly moved a finger experimentally to see if it still worked.  It rose slowly up and down at her command.  
          “She’s clean, sir,” pronounced Higgs, “and so’s her bag.”  
          “Well,” said the blond man stepping forward again casually knocking Holly’s bag aside with his foot.  “At least you weren’t lying about that.”  He knelt down again to study Holly.  “But it’s a crime to loose or misplace your wand and I don’t think you’re that dumb.  So where _is_ it?”  
          “Sir?” broke in Higgs significantly.  Both Holly and the man looked at Higgs.  Higgs was gazing with concern at the puddle of liquid spreading out on the floor.  It had already pooled around one of the man’s boots and was flowing steadily towards the other.  With it came the odor of mustard and cabbage…   
          The blond man stood quickly and removed his foot from the puddle shaking off the excess drops of liquid.  “What kind of potion is that?” he inquired with disgust stepping well away from Holly and the suspicious liquid.  
          “It isn’t a potion,” replied Holly looking up at him.  “It was my lunch!”  
          “Another likely story,” he replied in disbelief.  Stepping carefully around the puddle the man returned to Holly.  He bent down and grabbed her upper arm tightly.  Suddenly everything went black.  Holly felt like she was being pressed very hard from all directions; she couldn’t breathe, iron bands seemed to tighten around her chest, her eyeballs were being forced back into her head, her eardrums were being pushed deeper into her scull and then, Holly was breathing again.  She felt as if she had just been squeezed into a garden hose.  A loud _“crack”_ sounded in her ear.  When Holly’s vision cleared, she found she was alone in the room.  Her bag was gone and single bench rested in the middle of the room next to her.  
          Holly remained huddled on the floor where the blond officer had left her.  How had everything gone so completely and horribly wrong?  It all happened so fast!  One minute Holly had been relaxing on the bus counting the minutes to Egham and the next she had been dragged off the platform while her bus drove away!  How had they recognized her so quickly?   What had she done wrong?  How did they know?   What did they know?  They hadn’t known everything, she reflected.  The officer had called her a “Non.”  Holly was a Hufflepuff, not a “Non!”  She knew Hufflepuffs did not exist in this world, only Slytherins and Nons.  What would they do to her if they learned she wasn’t of this world?  Holly couldn’t imagine ever being permitted to live once they realized she could change the whole fabric of existence.   
          Fabric!  Holly suddenly realized she still had her invisible cloak with her, and the key!  She sat slowly up and looked around.  Neither was much use to her here.  There were no doors or windows visible.  In fact, it suddenly occurred to Holly that this room different from the one at the station.  Yes, room was still a small cubicle and walls were blood red with a huge, nearly two meter high “V,” painted on each side.  But there had been a door before, hadn’t there?  And a torch!  Holly distinctly remembered a smoky torch in the ceiling that made her want to cough.  This room contained a single small candle hanging suspended from a holder in the center of a high ceiling.  The flickering candlelight made the imposing black “V’s” seem to sway back and forth like living snakes.  
          Holly shivered.  How _had_ she gotten here?  Where was she?  Not knowing what else to do, Holly buried her head in her lap and tried to practice Occlumency.  At the very least, maybe it would help with her splitting headache.


	6. Chapter 6

          Lieutenant Daniel Pilkington, Senior Detective, Wizard, Second Class, walked down the hall to his office.  He briefly checked his Security Sensor for disturbances and then entered.  It was a small office with no window and scarcely space for his desk and chair but he was very proud of it.  He had held his position and this particular office space for nearly ten years now.  If he were careful and very lucky, would continue to hold it for at least another ten…  Daniel removed his wizard robes and hung them on a hook in the wall.  He placed the box lunch his wife had prepared for him on the desk.  Then Daniel squeezed behind his desk and sat down.   
          As he did every morning, Daniel put his lunch in the bottom desk drawer and then checked his messages:  four possible fugitive sightings and a claim for a broken wand. Added to his previous cases, that should keep him busy for the day.  Daniel checked the date and time stamp of each message and rearranged them carefully in chronological order, oldest on top and the most recent last.  Then he placed the stack beneath the other cases already on his desk.  It was very important to follow up on every report and claim in the appropriate order.  That way no one could claim favoritism on his part, unless, of course, Daniel was ordered to do otherwise by a Superior.  Then that particular case would be followed to completion before he returned to his original caseload.  Daniel was frequently handed a case and told to give it priority so it was important to keep track of the others so they wouldn’t get forgotten.   
          Besides the messages, there was also the Weekly Report from the Muggle Security Office.  Daniel thumbed through it briefly.  It didn’t look quite right somehow.  He’d have to think about it before passing the report on.  He set that report on the other side of his desk for further consideration.  
          “Wizard Flint wants to see Pilkington.”  
          Daniel looked up to see Cedric Diggory standing in the doorway.  In his early forties, Cedric could be considered quite handsome with his broad shoulders, smooth features, clear blue eyes, and light brown hair.  Cedric looked quite dashing in that black uniform and the very picture of an experienced wizard.  He once was, from all accounts.  Daniel knew that Cedric had won the Tri-Wizard competition at Hogwarts one year, a true testament to his abilities. He had been a fairly good quidditch player as well.   
          But all that was before.  One day Cedric was found wandering in the woods barely functional with his mind nearly destroyed.  The Healers could do nothing for him.  No one claimed credit for the crime and the case was never solved.  The attack on Cedric devastated his father who immediately withdrew his name from consideration for Minister of Magic.  That left the way clear for Lucius Malfoy instead.  Rodolphus Lestrange later replaced Malfoy when the Dark Lord’s power had solidified.   
          Cedric’s father, though broken politically, remained a member of the Ministry.  Rather than confine Cedric to St. Mungos’ or in his house for the rest of his days, Amos Diggory decided to find something Cedric could do within his limited abilities.  Accordingly, Cedric was bounced from department to department until he at last found a place in this office.  Every morning at precisely 7:55 a.m., the Diggory House Elf brought Cedric, dressed in an appropriate Security uniform and his wizard’s robes, to the station front desk.  There, a receptionist pinned on Cedric’s Security badge and escorted him to his chair.  At precisely 7:55 p.m. the House Elf returned to collect Cedric.  Capable of carrying out simple commands within boundaries, Cedric delivered things during the day:  simple verbal messages, written messages, packages, papers…  He was very good at it as long as the directions were clearly given.  
          “Thank you,” replied Daniel calmly.  He thought briefly; had he any errands for Cedric to do?  No.  “Wizard Diggory,” he said firmly, “go to your chair and sit down.”  Without a word Cedric turned and left.  He would sit at his chair until the next person needed his services.  
          Daniel spun his chair around until he was facing the bare wall behind him.  Using his wand, he muttered a quick spell and caused the blank space to reform into a mirror.  He used it to check that his appearance met with current regulations.  His curly red-brown hair had been cut to the approved length--no lower than the bottom of his ears.  Daniel smoothed the hair back with his fingers so it wouldn’t stick out so much.  He straightened the lines of his black uniform with the red piping and made sure his lapel pin, his Security Badge, was centered properly.  Satisfied with his appearance, Daniel used his wand to transfigure the mirror back to blank wall.  He spun the chair around to face the front and then pushed it back against the wall.  After he stood up, Daniel double-checked his boots making sure they showed no scuffmarks and there were no fingerprints to mar the shiny polish. Then he straightened his clothes again. The little details really mattered to Wizard Flint; he felt such things were a mark of one’s ability.   
          Daniel left his office leaving his door open behind him.  Then he walked off in search of Wizard Flint.  Captain Wizard Macklin Flint was ten years younger than Daniel and had joined the Detective Department a year earlier, but he was a Wizard, First Class, and so Daniel’s Superior.  Macklin Flint was second cousin to Antonin Dolohov, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and a grand nephew of Augustus Rockwood, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic.  Flint no doubt planned to transfer to a more glamorous position as soon as there were openings in the Ministry of Magic.  
          Daniel found Wizard Flint in his office.  He was seated at his desk relaxing with his partner, Wizard Higgs, who was seated on the other side.  Both were in good spirits laughing heartily.  Daniel stood respectfully outside the office door with his eyes downcast and waited to be noticed.  It was not proper to interrupt his superiors.   
          Wizard Flint saw Daniel standing in the doorway.  His eyes lit up.  “Ah,” he said breaking off his conversation with Wizard Higgs and addressing Daniel.  “Just the person I was looking for.”  Not that he had looked very hard.  Daniel gave a brief respectful bow but remained standing where he was and waited for Wizard Flint to continue.  He was not permitted to enter a Superior’s office unless invited.  Wizard Flint stood up and plucked a slender folder off his desk.  “I’ve a Runner for you to identify,” he said walking over and handing the folder to Daniel.  
          “As you wish,” said Daniel respectfully taking the folder and tucking it under his arm.   
          “I just brought her in,” the Wizard added.  “It was a real sweet pick-up,” he continued proudly.  “We just scooped her up at the station and brought her in.  No muss no fuss!”  Translation:  the Runner hadn’t made a break for it when they approached and had been apprehended and removed without distressing any of the Muggle witnesses.  This was good.  That meant there would be no annoying Muggle outcry or publicity showing Security in a poor light that would later have to be tracked down and modified or destroyed.  “You could take lessons from me!”  Wizard Flint added grandly.  “If you had more pick-ups and captures to your name instead of just identifications you could be promoted to First Class!”  
          “No doubt you are right,” said Daniel politely.  He knew better than to disagree with a Superior; that was considered improper.  But Daniel also knew he had no chance of receiving further promotion.  Daniel was a “Non.”   
          The Sorting Hat placed all wizards into one of two categories:  Slytherins or Nons.   Slytherins ruled both the wizard and the Muggle world.  They considered themselves superior to all others thus deserving preferential treatment.  Only Wizards ranked First Class could hold the most important government positions and the best paying jobs.  Only Slytherins got promoted to First Class.   
          “Where is the Runner now?” asked Daniel changing the subject.   
          “Detention Room three,” replied Wizard Flint.  “No name; no wand.  But she’s one of yours for sure,” he added casually.  
          Translation: not a Slytherin, but that was no surprise.  Most Runners were Nons.  
          “I softened her up a bit so it shouldn’t take too long.”   
          That was not good.  Wizard Flint’s idea of "softening" often meant Daniel had to take a Runner to St. Mungos’ for treatment before he could even begin the identification process.  
          “It shouldn’t be too difficult for you to get her identified and sent off before the end of the day!” Wizard Flint continued airily.  
          “I shall do my best,” said Daniel calmly.  Privately however, he wondered, _“If it’s so easy, why aren’t you doing it?”_   He handed Wizard Flint the standard Form for his signature; it would _order_ Daniel to take the case.   
          “Her bag is still at the Station Departure Point,” commented Wizard Flint calmly as he signed his name.  “The Departure Point is going to require a potions clean-up along with my boots.”  He handed back the form and pointed causally to the pair of boots leaning near his desk.  They looked perfectly fine except the soles seemed damp.  “It’s a good thing I store a spare pair in my office wouldn’t you agree?”  
          “Yes, sir,” agreed Daniel while initialing his acceptance of the Order. That explained a lot.  Wizard Flint was very particular about his clothing.  It took priority over any interrogation.  He tended to hand the “messy jobs” to someone else.  “Will there be anything else?” Daniel asked while folding up the Order and placing it in his special Order case—what appeared to be a slender flat leather billfold that could, and did, hold large quantities of paper within.  
          “As long as you’re here,” said Wizard Flint casually, “you can clean up my boots first.”  Wizard Flint handed Daniel a previously filled out and signed piece of paper.  Cleaning personal apparel was a menial task, one a third year at Hogwarts could handle easily.  Unfortunately, most Slytherins, especially the younger ones, never bothered to learn their cleaning spells preferring instead to order Nons to do it for them.  It gave them a feeling of power and confirmed their sense of superiority to see the Nons stoop and bend at their command.  Nons who refused to complete such demeaning tasks became a target for more harassment and suffered all sorts of creative punishments at the hands of Slytherins.  
          Daniel looked at the Order carefully.  Nowhere was it written that a Non _had_ to follow the orders of a Slytherin, but to refuse would only annoy Wizard Flint, his Superior.  A Superior could express his annoyance in almost any way he desired including dismissal.  It was not worth the risk to refuse an Order.  “Yes, sir,” said Daniel calmly without any expression on his face.  He initialed his acceptance to complete the Order and placed the form in his pocket.  Wizard Flint nodded casually and returned his attention to Wizard Higgs.  Daniel had behaved as he had been taught, as was expected.  He was no challenge or threat to Wizard Flint.  
          While Nons were not legally obligated to follow the orders of a Slytherin, Nons could be punished for _failing_ to follow a Slytherin order, even if it was a bad or harmful order.  That fact had been drilled into Daniel’s head while at Hogwarts.  However, no Non could be punished for _following_ a Slytherin order no matter what its consequence.  
          Daniel still remembered when the Dark Lord had decreed the re-sorting of Hogwarts into two houses.  He had been twelve at the time.  The Nons had suffered terribly those first years as the Slytherin students explored and exploited their new status.  Later, Headmaster Snape announced that some Nons were trying to steal the credit for Slytherin inspiration and accordingly introduced the Order Form.   
          Printed on paper that contained numerous anti-cheating charms, it could not be forged or modified once signed.   Order Form proved conclusively whether a Non acted on his or her own initiative or at the “superior” instruction of a Slytherin.  It also prevented Slytherins caught breaking the rules from unfairly placing the blame on a hapless Non.   
          After the Order Forms proved of considerable use in tracking down and identifying an ambitious Slytherin who conspired to replace Antonin Dolohov as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the use of the Order Form became standard practice in the Ministry of Magic as well.   
          It later became law that Nons need not obey a personal Slytherin directive unaccompanied by a properly signed Order Form.  That thwarted future scheming Slytherins trying to avoid the paper trail Order Forms provided.  An addendum made it illegal to tamper with the Order Forms of a Non.  Further, Nons had to produce their Order Forms for inspection at any time upon the directive of a Death Eater, and, of course, the Dark Lord himself.  A review of all orders given to Nons was regularly conducted whenever a Slytherin applied for a transfer or promotion.  As a result, ambitious Slytherins rarely involved Nons in their plans.  
          No Non these days would comply with a Slytherin directive without an accompanying Order Form.  The use of Order Forms created tons of paperwork requiring creative magical filing and storage methods but it protected the Nons from serious Slytherin abuse.  While the word of a Non was rarely taken over that of a Slytherin, the signature on an Order Form could be used as a defense when Nons were accused of a crime.  
          Daniel pulled out his wand and rapidly muttered some words to perform a simple cleaning spell.  He could have used a silent spell, but silent spells were considered above a Non’s intellectual capacity to perform; Daniel had no desire to give the Slytherins cause to think otherwise.  A Non could be dismissed for using magic that might make a Superior look bad.   
          Cleaning gave Daniel an excellent opportunity to learn more of Slytherin activities.  Today Wizard Flint and Wizard Higgs were discussing something about a magic glitch occurring in Little Whinging the previous day…   Daniel never acted on or used the information he overheard—the Slytherins were rather paranoid as a group and often set traps to identify “non-loyal” wizards.  This precaution enabled Daniel to avoid many a trap during his years as a detective and helped him keep his job.  By now he knew which Slytherins were most likely to set traps.  Wizard Flint was one of them but his traps were usually rather obvious and clumsy.  
          When he finished with the boots, Daniel handed Wizard Flint the Order Form for signature.  Wizard Flint signed it signifying his approval and completion of the cleaning job.  
          Then Daniel again asked if Wizard Flint needed anything.  This time the Wizard signified with a casual wave of his hand that Daniel was dismissed.  Daniel gave a brief bow and left to work on the Runner case.

********************

          Once he had left Wizard Flint’s office Daniel turned and headed for the Security Exit.  The Runner was already in custody so there was no rush about her; he had the Runner’s bag to pick up and a potions mess of some sort to clean up.  Daniel checked the log and learned Wizard Flint had used the Little Whinging bus station access. Then he checked the map for the nearest alternate Apparation location—a toilet on the other side.  It was never safe to Apparate into a room with an unidentified potion mess caused by an unidentified Runner.  Some Runners developed Potions specifically to embarrass, annoy or harass Security.  Daniel had seen some potions turn the skin of an unwary Security Wizard blue or cause his clothes to melt. Even if the potion was fairly harmless, it could have become stronger after prolonged interaction with air.  Better to be safe.  Tucking the Runner’s folder under his arms Daniel stepped into the Exit Room and Apparated.

********************

          The bathroom was dark and stank.  Daniel doubted it had been cleaned in years.  _“Lumnos!”_ he whispered pulling out his wand.  Immediately the tip began to glow showing him the way to the door.  When he touched the door handle, Daniel turned off the light and stowed his wand in his sleeve.  Then he opened the door and carefully stepped outside.  
          Hot exhaust fumes blasted Daniel’s face as a bus roared past.  Muggle transports were cumbersome, messy, dirty and stinky.  “Better a proper broom,” thought Daniel.  But as Slytherins considered Muggles even lower than Nons; they rated nothing better than smelly vehicles and were lucky to have even that.  
          Daniel made his way swiftly across the terminal to the Security entrance.  The Muggles immediately backed away in fear from him clearing a walking path.  A little girl darted front to collect her doll dropped in their haste.  The mother anxiously grabbed her child’s arm yanking her from the doll and out of his way.  The child cried out in surprise and pain.  Daniel didn’t like being regarded as an ogre, but it was better the Muggles feared; it would keep them alive longer—maybe.   
          Sometimes the Death Eaters got bored and roamed the skies looking for diversions.  That’s when planes went mysteriously off course before crashing, houses blew up or caught fire and buildings fell without explanation.  Unknown Terrorists always got the blame and Security got a boost in popular support but Muggle terrorists had long since been eliminated:  only the Death Eaters and the Slytherins remained.  
          The security door swung open as Daniel drew near.  It was designed to do that whenever someone wearing a security badge drew near.  A hot blast of steam shot out.  The steam added to the power and mystery image of the Security.  The steam also kept the Muggles from seeing that there was no actual office within, just a small bare room with four sides.  Accompanied with the anxiety and fear spells just outside the doors no Muggle would dare attempt to enter.  The steam would continue until the door closed.   
          Daniel eyed the steam suspiciously.  Today it seemed more than just steam; it smelled.  What was that?  Cooked cabbage?  A very strange potion indeed!  Daniel stepped cautiously within the room; the door closed silently behind him.   
          The steam vanished and Daniel could clearly see the Runner’s bag lying to one side.  It looked like a plain lime green Muggle bag decorated with white daisies. The bottom of the bag lay in a puddle of liquid that spread out across the floor.  The damp daisies on the bottom were stained a light pinkish colour.  The whole room smelled of cabbage.  Daniel stepped closer and knelt down lifting the bag by a dry section.  The sound of broken glass clinked within.   
           Using his wand, Daniel carefully flipped up the flap on the bag and peered inside.  It was a major mess. Translucent pieces of greenish cabbage lined the walls of the bag.  An apple was mushed into a soggy lump of brown bread, some round pinkish white globs stuck to the sides and was smeared all over a wet pinkish package and a small sodden paper bag.  Intermixed between it all were two jar lids and shards of broken glass.  Daniel cautiously put his finger to the liquid on the floor touching it.  He rubbed the drop between his thumb and forefinger and sniffed it: tomato?   
          Daniel stood in relief.  He very much doubted this was a potion at all!  Using his wand he pointed it to the glass and said _“Reparo!”_   Instantly the shards reformed into two plain glass jars. One of them contained bits of cabbage and traces of a reddish liquid.  Jars were a Muggle thing and did not make proper potion containers!  “Wizard Flint had been wrong about the potion clean-up,” mused Daniel as he quickly cast a spell to mop up the floor and then another to dry the bag.  “I wonder what other mistakes he has made?”   
          Daniel drew out a Security Case from his pocket and opened it.  Though fairly certain the bag was harmless, it never hurt to be safe.  Fugitive Wizards often rigged their things with booby traps or delayed spells timed to go off at the station.  Daniel placed the Runner’s bag carefully within.  Then he gripped the bag firmly under his arm next to the Runner’s folder and Apparated back to the station.

********************

          Once in the station Daniel took the bag and folder back to his office.  He liked to learn as much as possible about a Runner before beginning an interview.  Daniel set the Security Case to one side and opened the folder.  He pulled out the top page:  the Runner Form.  The date and time of identification was neatly penned in.  Then there were many spaces left blank –name, age, physical description....  That meant the monitor had not recognized the Runner.  That was not uncommon as most Runners took a Polyjuice Potion while running.  The bottom had been filled out by Wizard Flint—the Runner was charged with: 

 _Traveling Without a Permit_  
 _Resisting Arrest_  
 _Traveling Without a Wand (a separate notation indicated that both the girl and her bag_  
                             had been scanned to confirm this.)  
 _Possession of Dangerous Potions_  
 _Disrespecting a Superior_

          Daniel set the Runner Form down to be filled out later.  He pulled out the next page in the file.  It was a photo.  This was the one that had identified the Runner.  It showed a rather grainy image of a girl with brown braids reaching out, taking some money and tickets and putting them in her bag.  Daniel examined it carefully—definitely a Witch, he concluded.  
           Security Officials had placed numerous _wizard eyes_ throughout each city at strategic location for the express purpose of locating Wizard fugitives, mostly Mudbloods and Runners.  It was very effective.  Once a Monitor had identified a potential criminal the photo and accompanying information was forwarded to headquarters where it was reviewed and then sent to the appropriate wizard for action.  Wizards, First Order, were always assigned a “Pick-up.”  Wizards, Second Order, were usually given the clean up, if any, and the more tedious follow-up work.  
          Daniel found a second picture behind the first.  That was odd.  Usually the Monitors took one photo for Security identification purposes (and a Wizard trial if necessary,) and moved his or her attention on to other surveillances.  This was a much better photo; crisp and clean.  It was a Muggle style “still” showing a young girl standing in the terminal.  With a start, Daniel realized there were no wizard eyes positioned to provide that specific photo angle.  Obviously the Slytherin (only Slytherins could be Monitors) had somehow tapped into a Muggle security camera and gotten this image.  “Very creative,” he thought.   
          Daniel looked more closely at the Runner.  The girl was slim and small wearing an oversized dirty gray sweatshirt.  She looked to be nearly the age of his own daughter.  Assuming her actual age was similar to that in the photo, Daniel couldn’t imagine an adult using Polyjuice to take on a child’s form. The girl looked a little young to be Running.  She was obviously running, true, but probably not for the usual reasons—perhaps it was because of a family argument or something.   
          Usually the Running started the last few years at Hogwarts or right afterwards—when the reality of their situation sank in.  Students, especially Nons, often ran in protest—seeking the freedom denied in everyday life.  Left alone, they eventually came back.  The Dark Lord controlled Great Britain and Europe with his first lieutenant Fenir Greyback running the European operation.  Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord protégée, controlled the Americas and Daniel had heard some crazed wizard named Grindelwald controlled Africa.  Bluntly, running wasn’t enough because the Runners had no place to run _to!_    
          Unfortunately only Wizards, First Class could travel freely without express authorization.  Even Security members had to apply for and receive travel authorization.  Daniel’s own authorization was kept safely in his documents folder.  It was very general to accommodate the kind of work he did.  The authorization came with the job and was automatically revoked should he lose his position.  Runners were clearly breaking the travel laws, so they were hunted down and brought in like any other common criminals.  Runners weren’t criminals; not really, so Daniel tried his hardest to get captured Runners out of detention and back home with their families as soon as possible.  
          Daniel placed the photos on top of the Runner Form and looked at the remaining paper beneath.  The Monitor had made some observation notes.  That was most unusual. This was a very thorough Monitor indeed.   
          The notes indicated that the Runner had purchased _two_ tickets for Thorpe.  _Two?_   It would appear there might be another Runner—one Wizard Flint had missed.  Thorpe was also a rather unusual destination.  What did the Runners plan to find in Thorpe?  
          Then the Runner ate an apple, took a drink from a jar, used the loo, and made a phone call—a telephone call???  Only Muggles used telephones!  Wizard children had no need for Muggle technology.  When had the girl learned how to use a telephone?  Muggle technology was frowned upon and its use certainly wasn’t taught at Hogwarts!  Daniel had had to attend special workshops after he became a detective to learn the basics of Muggle technology.  Who had taught this girl?  Why?  
          A second notation indicated the girl had asked for the number of a “Charles Smith” located in Brundon outside Sudbury, Suffolk.  How did the Monitor learn that?  And so quickly?  Obviously the Monitor knew a thing or two about Muggle technology as well—very unique, especially for a Slytherin!  The signature at the bottom of the page read “P. Crowley.”  This P. Crowley would bear remembering.  
          Daniel returned his thoughts to the Runner.  Who were the Smiths and how did they relate to the Runner?  Smith?  That name sounded familiar.  It was a common enough name, but when connected to Suffolk…  Daniel closed his eyes and scanned his memory.  It was an excellent memory able to recall names, dates, and places with perfect clarity.  It was one reason why he had become such a good detective.  Daniel frowned recalling.  He had received an order to remove the name “Smith” from the Suffolk Muggle directory only last year, and yes, the name “Charles” had been one of those names!  That could mean only one thing—the Smiths were a Mudblood family!   
          Wizard Purification was something highly encouraged by Minister Lestrange and backed by the Ministry of Magic.  It was a large part of Wizard Security responsibilities and, to Daniel, the most distasteful.  Fortunately for him, Purification positions paid well and were only given to Wizards, First Class.  
          Death Eater Barty Crouch enthusiastically headed the Department of Wizard Purification. The program assumed all Mudbloods gained their magical powers by theft.  Accordingly, an identified Mudblood was swiftly apprehended by Security members and immediately sent to Azkaban Prison without even the benefit of a trial.  Of course, a Mudblood child could not have the knowledge or ability to steal magic alone, so the parents were presumed to be accomplices.  They were sent to Azkaban Prison too.  As for the rest of the family, they were picked up as well.  No family meant no one to complain to authorities about missing relatives.  
          The other members of a Mudblood family, those not guilty of any wizard crime, could not simply be released; they knew too much. The younger ones had their memories modified and became “orphans.”  They were adopted out and raised by select Muggle families.  As to the other family members, they just vanished.  Daniel wasn’t sure of their fate.  He had heard rumors that their memories were modified and they were sent to Europe as cheap labor.  He had also heard that would-be Death Eaters liked live subjects upon which to practice their more lethal spells… Either way, they were never seen again.  
          Many of Daniel’s responsibilities came after the apprehension of a Mudblood family.  Sometimes he was instructed to send official Security notices to Muggle news reporting the successful capture of Mudblood individuals and/or families identifying them as key terrorist groups or criminals.  Daniel assigned crimes, posted appropriate photos and rewards for the capture of known Mudbloods who somehow escaped a Purification sweep.   He also investigated Muggle leads and handed out rewards to Muggles whose tips led to the successful apprehension of a fugitive Mudblood.     
          If, after a year or two, there was no Muggle outcry over the disappearance of a Mudblood family, Daniel was instructed to removed the names of that particular family from Muggle documents so other Muggles could not verify their existence let alone trace their disappearances.   As a result, countless numbers of Mudblood families had simply vanished without comment by the general Muggle population.  The Muggles weren’t really blind to the disappearances.  But those who spoke out in public about their concerns often vanished soon after, or became the next “murder victim” of some “criminal” or “terrorist.”   Rarely did the Security members intent on purification resort to memory modification.  
          Security members never discussed or published the number of Mudbloods and their families apprehended through their purification efforts, but Daniel knew.  He had an excellent memory and the numbers were depressing.  Daniel could do nothing for the Mudblood families picked up by Security.   
          Thinking about it, Daniel decided it might have been to the girl’s advantage that Wizard Flint got her when he did.  The girl’s inquiry had probably set off numerous red flags.  No doubt a Security Purification team had already been dispatched to locate the source of the inquiry.  If they had found her matters might have been far worse.  
          The fate of Mudbloods in the wizard community was a taboo topic.  Wizards overheard speaking of it in any way or caught helping Mudbloods were dealt with severely.  They could expect to be sent to Azkaban Prison.  As the girl was a witch, her “Smith inquiry” could be a very serious matter indeed and could result in landing not only herself, but also her whole family in prison.  So far, no Purification Wizards had expressed an interest in her so it was a good bet they hadn’t read the Monitor notes or seen the Smith name.  As there was no place in his paperwork to include an unrelated telephone inquiry, Daniel had no intention of mentioning it to them.  So unless the very efficient P. Crowley had access to Mudblood removal lists, which Daniel very much doubted, this infraction might slip by unnoticed.  
          Daniel set the page of Monitor notes on top of the photos and closed the folder.  Then he lifted the Security Case containing the Runner’s bag and placed it in front of him for examination.  He already knew it carried food, but what else did it contain?  Before beginning, Daniel closed his office door and activated the Security Force Field.  If the Runner’s bag was booby trapped, the resulting spell could only affect his office.  
          Using his wand, Daniel opened the Security Case.  It unfolded like a flower while turning into a protective black square of silky cloth covering his desk.  That kept the Case contents from touching any substance on the desk that might serve as a reactant.  The bag lay squarely in the center of his desk ready for examination.  Daniel then lifted the bag, opened the flap and gently tipped the contents onto his desk taking care to not let the apple roll or the jars break again.  Anything carrying a spell would immediately fizzle and pop upon touching the Security Case cloth.  Nothing made the slightest suspicious sound.  Using his wand as a stick, Daniel carefully spread out the contents.  He recognized most of it from before.  Daniel lifted up the pinkish package.  Unwrapping it, Daniel found a chunk of rather smelly cheese within.  The paper bag contained raisins.  
          Daniel now proceeded to examine the bag itself looking for any hidden compartments.  He found a zippered compartment on one side of the bag.  He opened it, withdrew the contents and placed them on the cloth.  It was mostly Muggle money—a bill and a couple of coins.  Interesting—no wizard money.  Perhaps the Runner had been carrying that on her person.  Wand scans wouldn’t reveal money or other things of interest, only wands.   
          Daniel also found two rectangular pieces of paper with Muggle printing on them.  The paper was pinkish in colour, no doubt stained from the tomato, and the ink on the papers had run together making them difficult to read.  Daniel peered at the papers closely.  One was a cancelled bus ticket to Thorpe and the other—Daniel straightened in his seat in surprise.  The other was the _second_ ticket to Thorpe, _uncancelled!_ There had been no second Runner—just a clever first Runner!  Had the Runner been clever in other ways too?  Was Thorpe even her real destination?  
          Daniel carefully examined the rest of the Runner’s bag.  Satisfied it contained nothing else of interest, he set the two tickets aside and put the rest of the contents back into the bag.  Then Daniel refolded the Security Case around the bag and put the bag on the floor next to his desk.  Next, he opened his office door releasing the Security Force Field; it was no longer necessary.  
          Daniel returned his attention to the Runner Case folder.  He pulled out the second photo, the “still,” and placed it to one side along with the Monitor notes and tickets.  He might have further use for them.  
          Knowing what he now knew about the Runner Daniel reconsidered the charges with an eye for how they might be modified or changed in the best interest of the Runner. That was what Daniel did best.  98% of the Running cases that passed his desk were resolved within 24 hours of identification without ever going to trial.  That saved the Ministry lots of time, effort and paperwork.  Parents were happy to get their children back with a minimum of fuss and Daniel found ways to make that happen.

 _Traveling Without a Permit_ —Daniel could do nothing about that; she had no permit.  
 _Resisting Arrest_ —Daniel found it hard to imagine that slim little girl doing much of anything in the way of resistance. Hadn’t  
                              Wizard Flint even said it was an easy pick-up?  This charge would make Wizard Flint the laughing stock of the wizard  
                              community should it ever be brought to court.  Under the proper circumstances, Daniel was sure he could  
                              persuade Wizard Flint to drop it.  
 _Traveling Without a Wand_ —wands could be used to identify a Runner and were frequently hidden. Unfortunately, it was  
                              serious offense to be caught without one.  Perhaps the wand had been left at home to insure it wouldn’t get lost or  
                              stolen…  That would depend on the whereabouts of the wand.              
 _Possession of Dangerous Potions_ —That charge could be easily dropped.  As near as Daniel could tell, there had been no potion.   
 _Disrespecting a Superior_ —what on earth had she done to receive this charge?  No matter.  Given the girl’s obvious youth perhaps  
                              a sincere apology could set this straight.  Wizard Flint tended to respond well to flattery.

          Daniel set the Runner Form back in the folder; he would know better how to deal with the charges after he talked with the Runner.  He checked the clock.  The Runner had been in detention for over an hour now.  Good. The effect of any Polyjuice Potion she might have taken would have worn off.  Daniel found that the Runners, especially the females, hated it when anyone watched them morph back into their original forms.  Daniel pushed back his chair and stood up.  He grabbed his Wizard robes and put them on over his uniform; Runners tended to be more comfortable talking to someone in robes than a Security uniform.  Also, his robe often came in handy as a spare covering; sometimes a Runner’s clothes didn’t fit properly after the Polyjuice Potion wore off…  Then the Runner might be too embarrassed to cooperate.  Daniel stepped out of his office, and headed towards Detention.  He had a Runner to meet.

********************

          “Any problems?” asked Daniel as he handed Wizard Breysbury his authorization to take charge of the detainee in Room Three.   
          “Not a peep,” replied Wizard Breysbury.  He was the Security Guard in charge of watching the detention rooms.  The detainees were kept under constant surveillance as a matter of policy, not that they were told, of course.  “She’s barely moved from where Wizard Flint left her,” he added.  
          Daniel looked through the tiny viewing screen at figure huddled on the floor.  “She isn’t hurt, is she?” he asked with concern remembering how Wizard Flint had boasted of  “softening her up a bit…”   
          “I don’t think so,” said Wizard Breysbury thoughtfully.  “But I can’t be sure.”  
          Daniel nodded.  He would see for himself soon enough.  “I’ll be going in now,” he announced checking to insure his Security Badge was on securely.  The detention rooms had no doors or windows.  The only access was through Apparating and then only if one wore a Security Badge or was touching someone wearing a Security Badge.  Daniel walked to the Departure Point.  Without another word he Apparated into Detention Room number three.


	7. Chapter 7

          Daniel rematerialized directly in front of the Runner.  He wanted a chance to gauge first expressions before a Runner had a chance to prepare.  Also, past experiences had taught him that arriving suddenly from behind made Runners uncomfortable and thus less cooperative.  
          The Runner was still on the floor with her head hidden in her lap.  She looked up at his arrival.  Daniel stared at her in amazement; her face looked exactly the same as the one he had seen in the photo!  She hadn’t morphed; hadn’t used Polyjuice Potion at all!  How could that be?  Surely the very efficient P. Crowley would have recognized her.  The girl was clearly school age and photos of all Hogwarts students were on record for Monitor use.  Further, most Monitors during the summer were Student Interns earning extra pay.  The Monitor should have recognized her easily from school.  Perhaps there was some other form of disguise.   
          Daniel studied the girl closer.  Her eyes were puffy and red.  She had obviously been crying.  “Are you O.K.?” he asked impulsively noting the red mark and lump on the side of her temple.  The girl nodded her head slowly all the while regarding him steadily with her green eyes.  Her face was smudged with dirt—with more at the hairline…hairline?  That wasn’t dirt, concluded Daniel with satisfaction.  She had coloured her hair!  That could explain the recognition confusion.  What colour was her hair originally?  Probably blonde, it would be the easiest to dye.  So who was she?  Daniel could always ask his daughter; she would know, but he would never ask her to inform on a fellow Non.  He would figure it out eventually.  
          “I am Detective Daniel Pilkington, Wizard, Second Class,” he said introducing himself.  “I expect you know my daughter, Leila,” he added conversationally.  There was a faint flicker of recognition in the girl’s eyes confirming what he already suspected, that the two were probably classmates.  It also established him as a “Non,” not a “Slytherin,” despite his uniform.  “Come with me, please,” he said holding out his hand to her offering to help her up.  Then he waited.  Where Slytherin violence often strengthened resolve, simple courtesy could work miracles.  The girl looked at him and his outstretched hand silently for a full minute.  Then she slowly stretched her own arm out and put her hand in his.  Daniel smiled to himself as he firmly grasped the hand and helped pull the girl to a standing position; it was a small victory in trust but one that could eventually lead to her further cooperation and identification.  He Apparated them both out of the Detention room. 

******************** 

          When the two arrived in the Station proper, Daniel paused to let the girl get her bearings.  Apparating could be a very disorienting experience, especially for beginners.  She was too young to learn Apparating at school and the way she staggered slightly in his grasp meant this girl was definitely a beginner.  Presently the girl looked about with more interest signaling her recovery.  “My office is this way,” Daniel said releasing her hand and indicating a direction.  “If you’ll come with me, please.”   
          This was another exercise in trust, on his part.  Would she come willingly or try to run?  The girl couldn’t run far or actually escape, especially inside the building without a Security Badge, but she didn’t necessarily know that.  From now on, everything she said and did was a clue to her identity and might suggest ways he could use to return her to her family.  The girl hesitated momentarily and then moved to join him matching her speed with his.  Daniel relaxed, encouraged by her act; she was definitely not a hardened Runner determined to gain her freedom at all cost.  
          “How old are you?” he asked conversationally.  It was a fairly harmless question designed to get her talking and used to answering questions.  
          “Thirteen,” she whispered confirming his guess in her age.   
          Daniel nodded.  “As is Leila,” he said reminding her again of his “Non” status.  “That means you’ve completed your second year at Hogwarts, am I correct?” he asked as they continued walking down the hall.   
          “Yes, sir,” she answered keeping step with him while looking all around.   
          “Leila’s brother Dylan will be starting next year,” added Daniel informatively.  “Have you any brothers or sisters?”  
          “A brother,” she finally whispered so softly only he could hear.  
          “Oh?” said Daniel casually.  “What’s his name?”  Runners often gave up family names sooner than their own.  
          They walked several steps before she whispered, “Vernon.”  
          “That’s a nice name,” said Daniel.  If it were correct.  “Is he in Hogwarts too?”  
          “No,” whispered the girl.  “Where are we?” she asked suddenly changing the subject.  
          “We’re in Wizard Security Station Number Four,” replied Daniel matter-of-factly.  Daniel was thinking rapidly about what the girl had said.  A brother not in Hogwarts—that meant a sibling younger than age ten or aged seventeen or older.  Hopefully, she’d tell him her name.  If not, this information could narrow things down considerably when it came to identifying the girl.   
          “Where is that?” she asked.  
          “It’s near Croydon,” he replied looking down at her in surprise.  Surely she knew that.  Security Station locations were kept secret only from the Muggles not Wizards.  
          “Oh,” came her soft voice.  
          There was something odd about the girl.  Daniel couldn’t quite pin down what but he’d figure it out eventually.  He was good at puzzles.  They continued walking and passed Wizard Flint’s office.  The door was closed indicating he was out.  He was probably off on another Security pick-up.  Pick-ups looked good on a resume and Flint liked how the Muggles backed away in fear when he walked past.  
          They walked a few more steps when suddenly the girl pulled to a stop in front of Cedric Diggory, seated straight and tall in his chair, waiting for the next instruction.  Daniel stopped also and watched her.  She put her hand out tentatively and touched his shoulder.  “It’s O.K.,” said Daniel soothingly.  “That’s Wizard Diggory.  He won’t hurt you.”  She’d probably never seen someone like Cedric before.  
          “Cedric?” she whispered looking up at Daniel.  
          “Yes, Cedric,” confirmed Daniel in surprise.  “He works here.”  How had she known of Cedric?  He certainly wasn’t a secret, but what happened to him was so long ago most people had forgotten about it.  His name was rarely mentioned these days.  Was the girl related to the Diggories?  He didn’t think Amos Diggory had any other family but perhaps she was a cousin…  
          “What happened?” she asked looking again at Cedric.  
          “No one knows.”  
          The girl looked up at him with her piercing her green eyes as if recognizing the lie he had just told.  Of course he knew what had happened and who did it!  Everyone did!  She had done it before and had confessed to that crime freely without regret.  No one doubted that she had done it again.  But that was before the Dark Lord had taken total power, before he had decided to assume the mantle of legitimately, to cloak his control under a veneer of normalcy.   
          All the regular wizard laws still applied, even to the Slytherins.  It just took more evidence to prove a case against a Slytherin.  The Dark Lord’s decision kept the wizard community functioning on the surface like a normal bureaucracy with the majority of its frightened members hoping they were so insignificant they would escape his notice.  It also enabled the Muggles to continue on believing they had a Constitutional Monarchy with rights—none of which actually existed should the Dark Lord so decide.   
          It would not do for this image of normalcy to have his chief supporters and advisors, the Death Eaters, as they still called themselves, openly confess to what was regarded by all as criminal acts.  So they didn’t.  The group continued to do as they pleased but behind closed doors or in front of witnesses who would never talk.  No one was foolish enough to accuse them of any crime.  Those who had made such accusations in the past never made it to court to testify; they merely “vanished” or died becoming a victim of yet another “unsolved crime.”  
          “He’s thirsty,” the girl said softly interrupting Daniel’s thoughts.   
          Was he?  How did one tell?  “There’s some water over there,” Daniel said aloud indicating a small table with a tumbler and pitcher in an alcove nearby.  “Why don’t you get him some?  You can pour yourself some water too, if you like,” he added.  Cedric looked fine to him.  What made her think he was thirsty?   
          The girl carefully filled the tumbler with water and returned to Cedric.  She looked up questioningly at Daniel.  “What now?” she asked.  
          “Wizard Diggory,” began Daniel getting Cedric’s attention, “drink the water in the glass,” Cedric took the tumbler from the girl’s hand and drank deeply.  When he finished, he held the empty glass out and the girl took it away returning it to the table.  
          “Is that better?” asked Daniel curiously.    
          “Yes,” said the girl with a hint of a smile.  She poured herself a glass of water and took a deep drink.  Then she frowned.  Setting the glass down on the table she asked, “May I touch him?” and looked questioningly at Daniel.  
          “Yes,” said Daniel wondering what she would do next.  The girl adjusted Cedric’s arm to a more comfortable looking position.  Then she reached under him, pulled out a thick book and handed it to Daniel.  “Thank you,” he said gravely.  Daniel’s features creased into a frown as he looked at the book: _A Study of Slytherin Intellectual Superiority_ , by Alecto Carrow.  Inwardly, he seethed.  A Slytherin must have deliberately left it on Cedric’s chair!  It was a totally useless gesture!  What good was it to tease and taunt someone who didn’t even realize it was happening?  That apparently didn’t stop some Slytherins!  Suddenly he wondered how the girl knew about the book in the first place.  Daniel had been looking directly at Cedric and hadn’t noticed it there.  But he would save his questions for later, someplace more private.  
          The two reached Daniel’s office a few meters later.  As usual, Daniel checked his Security Sensor upon entry.  A Non’s door could never be locked against a Slytherin and Daniel’s office was no exception so Daniel never bothered trying.  Unless he needed to activate the Security Force Field, Daniel kept his door open at all times.   
          Daniel did like to know if anyone had visited his office in his absence.  Daniel’s Security Sensor provided him with that information.  Wizard Flint had visited Daniel’s office frequently last year when he first started his job.  He stopped after a while, no doubt because he had found nothing; there was nothing to find.  Daniel kept his office strictly business without any trace of his home or family.  Further, Daniel had an excellent memory, so outside of the required log records, he never put anything in writing concerning interviews or conclusions until his actual report was written, signed and ready to submit.  That kept ambitious Slytherins from using Daniel’s efforts to further their own careers.   
          “Have a seat,” Daniel told the Runner pulling out the only other chair in his tiny office.  The girl hesitated briefly and then sat down.  She watched him closely with her green eyes following his every move.  
          Daniel walked over to a narrow shelf on one wall and pulled down a small blue-green flask and medium sized spoon.  Opening the flask, he poured some light green potion into the spoon.  “Drink this,” he said offering her the spoon.  She looked suspiciously at the potion in the spoon and then at him.  “It’s for your head,” explained Daniel, “nothing else, I swear.  You’ve probably got a raging headache!”  Daniel carried quite a few low level potions as remedies against the cuts and bruises Runners often received in the process of their arrests.  Parents didn’t like to see their children all beat up; neither did he.  
          The girl nodded slowly and took the spoon.  She made a face and a gagging sound as she swallowed the potion.   
          “Yeah,” said Daniel sympathetically while collecting the spoon, “I know it tastes awful, but it works.”  The fancier potions with a pleasant taste were reserved for Slytherin use only.  “Is that better?” he asked after a moment.  The girl nodded slowly.  “Good,” Daniel said as he re-corked the flask.  He returned the flask and spoon to their place on the shelf.  Then he squeezed himself behind the desk and sat down.  Wizard Flint often laughed about Daniel's small room and tiny desk (scarcely wide enough to hold the folders he worked with), but Daniel liked it that way. It made his office seem less imposing and intimidating to the Runners he most often dealt with.  
          Daniel pulled out his wand, waved it and said _“Muffeliato!”_   The sounds from outside the office ceased.  All became still and quiet.  Daniel stowed his wand carefully and then fixed his eyes on the girl.  “Now we can get down to business.”

*********************

          The girl stirred restlessly in her seat unsure of what Daniel would say.   
          “I expect you’re ready to go home by now am I correct?” began Daniel.  The girl nodded warily.  “Well, it’s my job to see that you and your family are reunited as soon as possible.”  That wasn’t his only duty, but the only one that mattered to Daniel, the one that kept him coming back to the office day after day despite the people for whom he worked.  Without his efforts, Runners would fare much worse within the system.  “To do that,” Daniel continued, “I’m going to need your help.  Do you understand?”  The girl sat still a while and then nodded silently her green eyes fixed squarely on him.  “Now, you already know my name,” he added.  “May I ask you yours?”  The girl looked at him fearfully, plainly afraid to speak.  “I know I work for Security,” admitted Daniel, “but I’m a Non, like you; I’m not going to hurt you; you can trust me.”  Daniel put all the sincerity he could manage in his words, willing the girl to believe him. This was it!  If he had managed to establish enough rapport between them, enough trust, the girl would give him her name and Daniel could get on to more important things, like contacting her family and getting the girl out of here.   
          The girl looked down.  Daniel waited patiently giving her time to think.  Finally she looked up at him and he heard a soft but clear voice hesitantly speak out.  “H—Holly Wycliff.”  
          Daniel sighed, disappointed.  He had been so sure she would tell him her name.  “I can’t help you unless you tell me the truth,” he began.  “We’ve already established that you are a student at Hogwarts.  And you and I both know there are no Wycliffs enrolled at Hogwarts or even on the Register.  So, why don’t you tell me your real name?”  And with those words, Daniel suddenly sensed he had lost her!  The hopeful openness he had seen in her face clouded over like a shell and she retreated into silence.  Somehow his failure to believe what was plainly not true had affected their whole relationship.  For whatever reason, Daniel realized she would not give him her name now.  What to do next?  
         “O.K.,” conceded Daniel, “we can get back to that later.  I still want to help,” he continued.  “Is there something I can get you or do for you, someone I can contact or leave a message that you’re O.K.?  I’m sure you’re family’s worried about you.”  The girl looked at him with a thoughtful expression on her face.  She was at least listening so Daniel continued:  “or even if you just want to talk a while, I’ll listen.  I assure you that I won’t pass on anything you say unless a Superior directly asks me to relate it.”   
          That was the other thing Daniel did; he listened.  It was unofficial, of course, but he tried to help the Runners sort out their feelings and problems so they could come to terms with their lives; Daniel tried to insure they didn’t Run again.  “I know that doesn’t sound like much of a guarantee,” he admitted, “but frankly, no Superior has ever inquired past my written report or asked me that sort of question.”  Would she believe him?  It was the truth.  While Daniel was required to honestly and fully answer any direct question from a Superior he couldn’t presume to know what information a Superior wanted otherwise.  Consequently, Daniel never volunteered unrequested information and kept all answers to a minimum.  The Slytherin Superiors in this department were so self-centered they had no interest in the problems of the Runners as long as the Runners pled guilty and paid their fines.  
          The girl licked her lips nervously.  “I need—” she began fearfully.  
          “Yes?”  Daniel waited for her to continue.  
          “I need to get to London!”  She blurted the words suddenly almost as if she were afraid she’d get in trouble for saying them.  
          So she _hadn’t_ planned to go to Thorpe!  “Is that where your parents are?” Daniel asked hopefully, watching her carefully while keeping any expression off his face.  The girl stared at him with her big green eyes and slowly shook her head.  It was just a fraction in either direction but definitely a shake.  
          Daniel sat back.  If her parents had lived in London it would have narrowed things down considerably.  Now he had to look at residents everywhere _except_ London…  “Unfortunately,” he replied regretfully, “I am afraid I can’t help you.  I am not permitted to remove you from this station for any reason.  I can only arrange your release into the hands of your parents or legal guardian and they must come here to get you.”   
          The girl sat back clearly disappointed and retreated into silence again.  
          Daniel decided to ask a question of his own.  “Are your parents, perhaps, in Suffolk?”  Daniel watched her closely.  The Smiths could have been neighbors but he doubted it.  Then she would have known they had been picked up.  The girl paled recognizing the significance of his words; she shook her head.  He could tell she hadn’t realized she had been watched.  
          “That was a very dangerous thing to do,” he told her sternly mentioning no names but no longer talking of her parents.  The girl squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in her hands.   
          “I didn’t remember,” she said as tears began to leak between her fingers.  “I didn’t think they would all be g—”  
          “Not thinking can get you killed,” Daniel stated bluntly.  “Fortunately, that is not my department.  However,” he added deciding to risk a warning, “you would be wise to never mention what you did in the station again!”  
          The girl nodded slowly.  “Yes, sir.”  She sniffed using her sleeve to wipe her face dry.  “Thank you,” she added softly.  
          “You would also be wise to give me your name, your _real_ name,” continued Daniel.  “There are Holding Cells in the center of the station,” he explained. “When we are finished talking, you will be taken there.  You will remain in confinement until a release can be arranged.  If, after thirty days, no parent or legal guardian has come to arrange your release then a hearing will be scheduled to determine your fate.  That can take another three to four weeks to arrange or longer.  So you see, you’re looking at another month, maybe two of confinement, minimum, if we can’t get your parents down here to help.”  
          The girl clearly looked distressed at this information but did not speak.  
          Daniel sighed.  Some Runners took a lot of convincing.  He rummaged around in his desk and pulled out a blank piece of paper.  Using his wand, he caused some writing to appear on it.  “This is a copy of the charges lodged against you,” he said handing the paper to the girl.  She looked at it while he continued to speak.  “Now,” he explained, “should you waive your right to a hearing and plead guilty to these charges, the most you can expect to receive as punishment are some fines.  Admittedly, the fines won’t be cheap, but it’s better than sitting around two months with a dementor for company while waiting for your hearing.”  The girl paled at the mention of dementors.   
          Daniel continued.  “If money is a problem, there is a Runner’s Fund your parents can tap into for help.”  Almost all the Nons had Run at one time or another.  And when they made it back home safe, they contributed to the fund so other Runners could come home too.  “Once the paperwork is signed and the fines paid I can get you immediately released into the custody of your parents and you can go home.”  Daniel paused to let that sink in.   
          Then he continued, “There is no advantage to you if you let your case go to court.  You will undoubtedly be found guilty of all charges as it will be your word against that of two Slytherins.”  
          The girl looked up at him, “But I didn’t have any potion!” she protested placing the page on his desk.  
          “Yeah, I know,” said Daniel dismissively, “cabbage soup, wasn’t it?”  The girl looked down and Daniel saw a hint of red creep into her cheeks.  He took that for a “yes.”  “Well if this gets handled out of court I can easily get that charge dropped for you.  If it comes to court, you can call me to testify and with the bag included as evidence, we can still get it dropped.  But Wizard Flint will be embarrassed if it comes out in court that he was fooled by cabbage soup.  Embarrassing him would be a very dangerous thing to do,” warned Daniel.  “Wizard Flint can be very vindictive.  He’ll press for a “guilty” verdict and maximum fines on all the other charges. Then he’ll probably go after your parents, family and friends as well making them his personal targets for harassment.  You have no idea the kind of kind of trouble he can cause,” he added.  “And when all is said and done, you will still have to pay the fines and your parents will still have to come in to get you before you can be released.  Do you understand?”   
          The girl nodded while still not looking up.  She pulled at the fabric of her oversized grey sweatshirt nervously.  
          Daniel noted this and softened his tone.  “If, on the other hand, your parents were to come in here now, then I think we could work together to make some of these charges go away…” Daniel carefully refrained from stating the obvious: that he’d have to know their names and hers to get them in here.  “Now, the first one,” he began, “Traveling without authorization.  I can’t do anything about that. You definitely did that.”  The girl didn’t argue and continued to tug at her shirt pulling it this way and that.  
          “The next one,” he continued, “resisting arrest.  Given Wizard Flint’s size and yours, I can’t imagine you put up much of a struggle.  If I can get all the paperwork done promptly and approach Wizard Flint when he’s in a good mood, I’m certain I can get him to drop it.”   
          Daniel paused while considering the third charge.  “What about your wand?  Is it at your house by any chance?”   
          The hands stopped moving clenched up and there was just the slightest of shake of her head.   
          “Pity,” replied Daniel.  “Dare I ask where it is?”  
          “Lost,” came the faintest of whispers and the nervous tugging at her shirt resumed with more energy.  
          “That’s not good,” replied Daniel sternly while trying to determine whether she was lying, “not good at all.  It’s got to be found!  Caught traveling without your wand is bad enough; failure to produce your wand at the hearing is worse and involves a whole new set of charges!”  The girl looked up with an expression of surprise.   
          “You see,” he explained further, “the court assumes you haven’t actually lost it but have given it to somebody not legally entitled to a wand.  It’ll be impossible for you to prove otherwise without the actual wand and if it’s truly lost, well, you can see the difficulties.”  She tipped her head faintly in understanding.  “And in case you don’t already know,” he added, “replacement charges for a lost wand are horrendous!”   
          Daniel looked down at his own list of charges remembering what was left.  “As I said before, the potions charge we can pretty much discount also,” he said confidently already planning how he would handle it.  Daniel would write a “preliminary report” and submit it to Wizard Flint.  Wizard Flint would scan the report and note that the potion was as yet unidentified with the main ingredients apparently being cabbage and tomato…  Wizard Flint would beret Daniel for not realizing it was soup and insist Daniel rewrite the report omitting the potions charge.  Letting Wizard Flint identify the “Potion” while demonstrating his superior “intellect” over Daniel would enable him to correct his mistake without embarrassment.   
          “That leaves us with this Disrespecting charge…”  Daniel frowned thinking.  “What on earth did you do to make him think—” he broke off while looking at the girl.  “Your eyes!” he exclaimed suddenly.  That’s what was different about her!  “Did you do that with him?”  
          “Do what?” she asked looking totally confused.  
          “Did you look at him the way you are looking at me now?” he demanded.  
          “Huh?”  
          “Didn’t you learn anything at school?” he scolded.  “Those rules are for everywhere, not just Hogwarts!  Of course he wrote you up for Disrespect if you did that to him!  Your eyes are supposed to be downcast when around a Superior,” explained Daniel.  “Looking at Superiors directly in the eyes can be considered a challenge to their authority!”  
         “Oh,” she whispered still staring at him.   
          Not _“Oh, yes,”_ noticed Daniel.  “In theory,” he added, “You should lower your eyes around me, too, as I work for Security which makes me _your_ superior.”  In fact, she should have lowered them immediately when they first met—before she had learned he was a Non.  But she hadn’t.  There also wasn’t the fear in her eyes or the automatic cringing one did in anticipation of a “lesson” reinforcing the consequences of “improper behavior.”  How had this happened?  
          “Oh,” she said again and immediately lowered her eyes.  
          “It’s O.K.,” amended Daniel.  “We’re both Non’s.  I don’t need it.  But now that I know what set him off, maybe if you apologize sincerely, include lots of flattery, and explain you didn’t realize the school rules applied outside of school you might be able to talk him out of that charge.  That’s assuming you keep your eyes down properly the whole time!” As he spoke Daniel realized that while the girl had looked down when she was upset or embarrassed, she hadn’t once averted her eyes in “respect” until he had mentioned it.  
          “Thank you,” she said softly but this time kept her head and eyes respectfully lowered.  
          “So,” finished Daniel, “shall I call your parents?”  When she didn’t respond, Daniel sighed and said, “It appears you have decided to tough it out and wait for the hearing.  Maybe you think the only one suffering will be yourself, right?  Wrong!  Wizard Flint won’t drop any of the charges if you make him go to court and in additional to the fines, your parents will be also required to pay all court costs!   
          “There’s more,” he added sternly.  “Did you know your parents are legally required to report your absence?  Of course, they haven’t; what parent would?  But if this comes to court before they report your absence, they’ll be forced to pay a stiff fine for that, too.  You don’t want them to have to do that, do you?  No matter who they are or what happened between you, I know they still love you and they want you back.  Can’t you see that it would be much better for everyone if I called your parents in now?” he pleaded.   
          In response, the girl brought her knees up in the chair, hugged them tightly, buried her head in her lap and began to rock slowly back and forth.  She moaned softly as she rocked.  Clearly she was crying and trying hard to not let it show.  “What is it?” asked Daniel concerned.  “What’s wrong?”  
          The girl stopped rocking and looked up.  Her faced was wet with tears and smudged with brown hair colour.  “My parents,” she began and choked on her sobs while more tears started streaming from her eyes.  Daniel waited for her to continue.  “They won’t be coming,” she gulped, tucked her head back in her lap and cried some more.  
          “They won’t?” said Daniel in disbelief.  This girl plainly loved her parents, which meant they loved her in return.  “Of course they’ll come!” he insisted.  
          “They can’t,” she whispered her face still hidden in her lap while sobbing some more.  
          “But they’ll have to come,” he said firmly.  “They must,” he assured her.  “If they don’t show for your hearing Security will institute a “Non” Head Count to determine who is missing and thus learn your identity.  Every Non must be accounted for in person along with his or her wand for verification.  You know they won’t be able to hide from that,” he insisted.  But the girl continued to sob and rock back and forth.  Daniel gave up arguing.  “Ever?” he asked finally.  
          The girl lifted her tear stained face to look at him with her piercing green eyes.  “Ever,” she replied with finality.  “And I miss them _so_ much!” she added and tucked her head back in her lap.  She began to rock back and forth again.  
          “That’s not possible unless—” Daniel stopped.  “Are they dead?” he asked doubting they were even as he asked.  He hadn’t heard of any wizards who had died or gone missing lately.  But a recent death of her parents would explain the girl’s extreme distress.  
          “Not really,” the girl mumbled from under her arms.   
          “Are they in some sort of trouble?  Bewitched perhaps?” he asked while ignoring her strange response.  What kind of an answer was “not really?”  
          “No, not really,” said the girl again but not explaining further.  
          Daniel sighed in exasperation.  “If they’re not in trouble then I don’t suppose they are fugitives already hiding?”  
          “No,” she mumbled shaking her head, as he knew she would; he’d know if there were any fugitives with thirteen-year-old girls…    
          Daniel thought for a moment.  Her parents couldn’t be in prison either because even prisoners were checked during a Head Count.  “Well,” he concluded, “if they’re not dead, bewitched or fugitives then they’ll be found,” he told her firmly.  “When your parents are identified—and they will be,” he added with certainty (the Slytherins being very efficient at “Non” Head Counts)  “they will have to pay for the cost of the Head Count along with everything else.  One or both of them may loose their jobs for failing to report your absence.  Most likely a hearing will be held to determine their “fitness” as parents in which case the courts will probably decide to place you in the custody of a “proper” Slytherin family.  And believe me,” he added as an aside, “you don’t want that!  Your parents may even face time in Azkaban Prison for abandoning you…”  
          “They didn’t abandon me!” the girl blurted defiantly suddenly looking up at him with her green eyes blazing.   
          “Of course not,” agreed Daniel startled by her intensity.  “So, let me contact them.”  Impulsively he reached over the desk and grasped her hand, still on her knee.  “It’s going to be O.K.,” he told her reassuringly.  “Let me help—we can get through this together.”  
          The girl looked at him, with tears streaming down her eyes.  Daniel looked back with as much sincerity as he could; willing her to believe he meant every word, which he did.  She took several deep breaths and opened her mouth to speak…  
          Suddenly a loud “pop!” sounded in their ears. That was the sound of the _Muffeliato_ spell breaking.  No conversation could be kept private in the presence of a Slytherin so Daniel’s spell was designed to break as soon as someone neared his office.  
          Daniel immediately looked over at the entrance and the girl followed his glance.   
          Wizard Flint strode in.  “Got her I.D.ed yet?” he asked breezily looking at the two.  
          “No, sir,” said Daniel hastily standing up and making a short bow while keeping his eyes carefully lowered.  What was Wizard Flint doing here?  He had never before interrupted an investigation after handing it off to Daniel.  
          “Well, I’m sure you’d do better if you instilled some fear instead of trying to hold her hand!” said Wizard Flint critically.  
          “Of, course,” agreed Daniel.  He kept his voice very low, struggling to keep the frustration he felt from showing.  He had been so close!  A minute more and she would have told him everything!  He just knew it!  
          “Look at me!” demanded Wizard Flint.  
          “What?” questioned Daniel looking up at Wizard Flint.  
          “Not you,” said Wizard Flint in frustration, “You!” he said.  Daniel saw Flint reach out, grab the girl’s chin and twist her face towards him.  “Look at me!” Wizard Flint repeated forcefully.  She reluctantly looked up at Flint.  Wizard Flint smiled.  “Just as I thought!” he said with satisfaction.  “Green eyes!”  
          “What?” repeated Daniel in confusion forgetting he shouldn’t speak until first spoken to.  
          “Green eyes!” repeated Wizard Flint cheerfully while ignoring Daniel’s transgression.  Wizard Flint glanced on the desk and noted the file there.  He released the girl’s chin and moved in closer.  “That her file?” he inquired sliding the folder off the desk.   
          “Yes,” admitted Daniel in a low voice.  What was going on?  
          Wizard Flint scanned the Runner’s Form on the top.  “You haven’t filled out any of it,” he accused.   
          “No, sir,” agreed Daniel.  “My investigation is not yet complete.”  
          “Well you should be filling it out as you go along like I do,” he criticized.  “It’s more efficient and you’ll get done quicker.”  
          “Of course,” replied Daniel while trying to figure out the purpose of Wizard Flint’s visit.   
          “Not that it matters now,” added Wizard Flint casually as he put the Runner’s Form back in the folder.   
          “Oh?”  What did that mean?  
          “I’m taking my case back,” Wizard Flint announced.  He handed Daniel an Order Form already filled out and signed.  
          “You are?” queried Daniel blankly while trying to make sense of the paperwork before him.  “Why?” he blurted forgetting for a moment that it wasn’t proper to inquire into the business or activities of his Superiors.  Daniel picked up his quill and signed the Form releasing the girl from his custody into Flint’s.   
          “Because,” began Wizard Flint overlooking Daniel’s verbal blunder, “I’m taking her to Azkaban Prison!”  He looked at Daniel smugly.  “Good thing I remembered the message.  Otherwise, you would have bungled everything by not sending her!”  
          “Azkaban!” said Daniel in disbelief.  “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such an order…” and he hadn’t despite the fact he reviewed all orders regularly.  
          “You wouldn’t,” said Wizard Flint arrogantly.  “It’s part of the communiqués sent _only_ to Wizards, _First Class_.” He moved in and added, “Don’t you wish you were a First Class Wizard now?  We _know_ more!”  
          Daniel ignored the dig and looked at the girl sitting next to him.  “But—Azkaban?” he question again.  “Her?”  
          Wizard Flint laughed.  “Yeah, I know,” he agreed tucking the folder under his arm. “She looks a little young to be a big bad criminal but she’s got green eyes and that’s what counts!”  
          “What?”   
          “You see,” explained Wizard Flint patiently, “anyone with green eyes picked up in the Little Whinging area is supposed to go directly to Azkaban Prison.  I kept thinking there was something important about her eyes and then I remembered that directive!  I saw the order ages ago.  I remember thinking at the time that it was a rather unusual directive—no details, no explanation, just the bit about eyes.  I have an excellent memory, you know,” Wizard Flint confided proudly.  “It took a while to dig the order out and double-check the wording but I was right!  Somebody over there wants people with green eyes!”   
          Wizard Flint’s icy blue eyes sparkled with excitement.  “It looks like the order was issued way before she was born,” he continued, “but it’s never been countermanded!  It probably has absolutely nothing to do with her,” he added, “but who cares?” he finished gleefully.  “It’s a chance to meet the folks at Azkaban!  Make some new connections!  Maybe I’ll even meet the person who put out the order!  It’s got to be somebody big!  Wouldn’t that be a feather for my cap!  This is the sort of opportunity that can really advance my career!”  he added happily,  
          Wizard Flint glanced over at the girl noting she had dropped her head and eyes; her hands tightly gripped the armrests of the chair.  “Fancy a trip to Azkaban do you?” he asked her gently; the girl moaned softly and gripped the armrests tighter.  “Now that’s the way I like to see them; too scared to move!” he said with approval.  “You just have to find the right buttons to push,” he told Daniel.   
          “Yes, sir,” murmured Daniel automatically while still trying to absorb the turn of events.  
          “I think we’ll have a little discussion and finish filling out the form along the way, too.  Would you like that?” Wizard Flint asked the girl.  She cringed visibly from his voice turning her head away from him.  “Answer me!” he demanded raising his voice.  
          “N-no, sir,” the girl’s voice quavered.   
          Wizard Flint laughed coldly.  He knelt down and spoke softly in her ear.  “That’s not the right answer,” he told her.  She leaned her body back pushing it against the chair trying to get further away from him.  “I’ll wager you’ll change your tune soon enough,” he said.  “I bet the folks up at Azkaban are way worse than me; you’ll be mighty grateful it was me that did the questioning instead of them!  Wouldn’t you agree?” he asked turning his head to Daniel.  
          “I wouldn’t know, sir,” replied Daniel having never spoken to someone who had returned from Azkaban, no one able to answer questions.  He feared the worst for the girl.  Even if it turned out to be some huge mistake, people who went to Azkaban rarely returned.  
          A low rumbling sound could be heard in the silence between words.  Daniel identified the source easily.  Wizard Flint straightened and cleared his throat covering the noise of his stomach.  “It’s lunch time,” he said dismissively.  “Uh, have you fed her yet?”  
          “No, sir.”  
          “Right.  Then I think I shall need a lunch for the trip.  Something portable—a hot roast beef sandwich will do nicely, don’t you think?  Medium rare, with chips, tea and a slice of peach pie.”  The girl turned her head abruptly at the mention of food.  
          “Yes, sir.”  
          “I’d like it right away,” added Wizard Flint.  “I plan to leave immediately.”  Wordlessly Daniel handed Wizard Flint an Order Form to sign.  Wizard Flint looked over at the girl as he signed the paper.  Her eyes were no longer averted and she watched them both as they talked.  “Only one lunch should do,” added Wizard Flint casually after he noticed the girl watching them.  He returned the paper to Daniel.  “She can watch me eat first and then we’ll have our little talk.  You weren’t hungry anyway, were you?” he added addressing the girl.  She shook her head wordlessly her eyes wide with fear.  Wizard Flint smiled at her response.  “Right answer,” he told her with satisfaction.  
          Daniel stood and pulled out his wand.  He hated conjuring food.  There was so much opportunity for a Superior to complain about the flavors and texture.   
          Wizard Flint moved to the office entrance while Daniel worked.  “Diggory?  Come to Wizard Flint!” he commanded while looking down the hall.  Diggory only responded to a voice accompanied by eye contact.   
          “Will this do?” Daniel asked Wizard Flint when he finished.  Wizard Flint scanned the food on the desk briefly.   
          “Excellent,” he pronounced and signed off on a satisfactory completion of his order.  “You can box it for me for transport, now.”  Daniel nodded and handed the Wizard another form to sign.  
          Cedric Diggory appeared at the office doorway.  Wizard Flint took the boxed lunch and handed it to Cedric.  “Put this in Security Transport Number Two!” he told Cedric.  Cedric took the lunch box and walked away.  “I’ve already signed it out!” Wizard Flint told Daniel proudly.  “I knew I was right about the eyes!” he added looking back at the girl; she watched him silently.  “I’m good at noticing details.  It’s the little things that make all the difference!”  He moved towards the girl.  
          “Ready for a little ride?” he asked cheerfully.  The girl shrank back in the chair.  She turned her head towards Daniel, her green eyes beseeching him for help.  Daniel stood still watching. There was no escape from the station and nothing he could do to help even a little bit—she was no longer his responsibility.  Wizard Flint reached out, grabbed the girl high on the arm and physically hauled her out of the chair making her gasp in pain.   
          “You’re hurting her!” protested Daniel as Wizard Flint twisted the girl around and proceeded to put her in a painful arm lock while digging his fingers into the opposite shoulder.  The girl squirmed futilely in his grasp.  
          “That’s the trouble with you!” criticized Wizard Flint confidently.  “You’re too soft!  You’ll never get promoted to First Class!  Better to be safe than sorry, I always say.  Anyone destined for Azkaban Prison should be regarded as a high security risk and needs to be treated accordingly, even this worthless bit of Non!  No doubt this is all a big mistake but that is their problem not mine; it’s no cause for me to slack off and not do my duty.”  Wizard Flint moved forward while forcing the girl to move as well.  “I should be back by tomorrow,” he called out cheerfully over his shoulder as he left the office, “with or without the girl!”  Wizard Flint’s laughter echoed down the hall.   
          Daniel shivered.  He had a feeling the girl would not return from Azkaban, ever.  Despite the age of the directive, the girl had turned white as a sheet at the mention of “green eyes,” not Azkaban Prison.  He had a feeling there had been no mistake!  The directive had not only netted the right person but she had known exactly why!


	8. Chapter 8

          Daniel sat back down at his desk and picked up the papers containing the other cases on his workload.  He looked at the words on the paper but could not keep his thoughts from straying back to the girl.  She was no longer his concern, but she was still a mystery.  He hated to leave a mystery unsolved.  Who was she?  What was the significance of the green eyes?  He wished he had learned her name, so he could contact her parents and let them know her whereabouts.  Perhaps they could figure out a way to get her out.  On the other hand, perhaps it was better he didn’t.  Daniel now suspected there could be a very good reason for their absence.  Seeking them out or contacting them might make their situation worse…  
          Daniel sighed and set down the papers.  He was getting nowhere with his work.  Noting the hour, Daniel decided it was time for lunch.  Perhaps he would be better able to do his job after a formal break.  He signed himself “out for lunch,” opened his desk drawer, removed his box lunch and left the office.   
          A few minutes later Daniel entered the staff room reserved for Nons.  It was a very tiny place, scarcely larger than his office.  A single battered table stood in the middle surrounded by a couple of rickety old chairs.  The walls were covered with posters of people working in the Ministry of Magic.  Antonin Dolohov, Rodolphus Lestrange, Augustus Rockwood, Rabastan Lestrange, Amycus Carrow, Alecto Carrow, Barty Crouch…  Death Eaters all of them, and in absolute control.  They stared out at him looking proud, arrogant and victorious.   
          Daniel sat down in one of the chairs and set his lunch on the table.  He poured himself a cup of tea, took a bite of his meat pie and closed his eyes while he slowly chewed.  
          Actually, the Nons working in Security had once gotten together and used their magic to create a rather pleasant staff room with picture windows and a rippling stream.  But the Undersecretary to the Department of Security, Dolores Umbridge, paid a visit to the Non Staff Room one day.  She declared that such decorations were not in keeping with Non abilities and status.  So it was all dismantled.  The Undersecretary sent them posters to be placed up in the Non Staff Room instead; she called them more suitable wall coverings.  
          The posters were a depressing lot and most of the Nons took their lunch elsewhere rather than look at them.  Daniel didn’t mind, though.  The posters were depressing, true, but silent.  He found that if he closed his eyes while he ate, he could imagine sitting at his home eating with his wife and family.  When he opened his eyes, he could look directly into the poster faces eye-to-eye as equals.   
          Daniel could still remember the days when the Slytherins walked as equals among the rest of the students.  Things had been different then.  It hadn’t been the greatest, but much better than what came later.  After Dumbledore died and none stood in his way, the Dark Lord took full power.  It was then the students were re-sorted into two houses.   
          Shortly afterwards, his father pulled Daniel aside for a talk at Christmas break.  “You’re still a Ravenclaw,” his father told him, “No matter what the hat says.  Ravenclaws are smart.  You are going to have to use your brains now, more than ever.  Keep out of the affairs of Slytherins for they seek to further only themselves and would destroy all who get in their way.  Bend with the wind,” he advised. “Use your intelligence to stay alive and to keep others alive.  For if you don’t, the Dark Lord’s madness will consume us all.”  So Daniel accepted the new Slytherin rules in silence and bowed when commanded.  He had survived while many of his classmates were not so fortunate.   
          Those who spoke out against the Dark Lord or of the injustice and unfairness of his new ways were repeatedly tormented and tortured.  The louder, more persistent ones, mostly those who once called themselves Gryffindors, were eventually silenced.  Some of these people ended up in Azkaban Prison.  Some died a violent death and their bodies, like Cedric’s, had been left for public discovery—a grim message of what would happen to those still daring to oppose the Dark Lord.  Others just vanished; no one doubted their final fate.  
          Daniel opened his eyes and looked at the posters.  He took another bite.  They were face-to-face now, he and the Slytherins, like equals.  _That’s how the girl behaved!_   She hadn’t known how to keep her eyes averted.  The girl tried, after Daniel explained it, but when stressed, she reverted to her wide-eyed stare.   
          Two years earlier Leila had wept bitterly over Christmas break when describing her first months at Hogwarts.  She told Daniel how the Slytherins systematically tortured, tormented and repeatedly tested each Non student insisting the students display proper respect under every circumstance.   
          Daniel almost felt relief when Leila also related that Headmaster Snape had not relaxed his iron control over the school.  Daniel realized that while Headmaster Snape was in charge, the Slytherin harassment Leila experienced might be painful and/or demeaning but it wouldn’t cause her lasting physical damage.  
          When the Dark Lord took power, he required a population of wizards, if not in agreement, at least compliant to his will.  Severus Snape had done his part as Hogwarts Headmaster.  Students leaving Hogwarts knew their place and were able to take part in the Dark Lord’s new society.  Headmaster Snape had terrified Daniel when he attended Hogwarts, but the Slytherins were afraid of him too.  That fear kept the Slytherin students in line.  In retrospect, Severus Snape was not as bad as the other Death Eaters; students did not _die_ while at Hogwarts.   
          The Headmaster had done nothing to stop Slytherin harassment, but he had set strict limits to it.  “This is a school!” he told the students time and time again.  “All Students here shall learn!  Nons may be misguided and thus inferior but they are still pure blood Wizards and as such valued by the Dark Lord.  You shall not destroy that which he values.  Student behavior that prevents learning shall not be tolerated.”  
          Headmaster Snape operated on the philosophy that Students could not learn while in need of medical attention.  Consequently, any harassment that required follow-up treatment at the infirmary was harshly punished.  Abusive Slytherins could not hope to hide their actions behind Nons too terrified to talk or go to the infirmary.  The Headmaster watched student attendance and performance closely.  His eagle eye always noticed the absent student or the one too traumatized to properly work.  Nor did the Headmaster bother questioning Nons to find the source of harassment; he asked the Slytherins themselves.  Woe to the student who tried to lie to the Headmaster; he knew all the tricks.  The Headmaster could ferret out the tiniest truth between the lies.  He had turned many a smug Slytherin into a quivering mass of jelly for daring to deceive him or oppose his rule.  
          Eventually Leila had learned “proper” behavior, it was the only way to stop the harassment.  Eventually, the Slytherins moved on to other victims.  Even out of school Leila now kept her head down and eyes averted whenever she saw Daniel in his uniform.  It hurt to think his own daughter was afraid of him.  Daniel had to repeatedly remind himself it was the uniform she was responding to, not him; at least he hoped it was.  There was no way the green-eyed girl could have spent two years at Hogwarts and fail to learn how to display “proper respect,” yet somehow she had.  
          Daniel took some more bites while he pondered different aspects of the girl.  Why had she run?  What happened to her parents?  Was she related to the Diggorys?  What about that book?  Daniel could think of only one way she could have known about that book but no one like that attended Hogwarts; Leila would have told him…  Daniel finished his meal with more questions than answers and no closer to a solution.  He sighed as he packed up his things.  This was one puzzle not easily solved in a day.  He had other work to get done and it would not happen in the staff room.  
          Daniel left the staff room and walked down the hall to his office.  He found Cedric Diggory standing in the doorway of his office.  “You have a message for me?” asked Daniel wondering how long Cedric had stood there waiting for him.  Daniel’s thoughts returned to the girl who said Cedric had been thirsty.  Had she really known?  Did Cedric ever get hungry during the day?  No one, to Daniel’s knowledge, ever fed Cedric while at work.   
          “Wizard Flint wants to see Pilkington immediately,” said Cedric calmly.   
          “Who gave you this message?” asked Daniel while he removed his robes and hung them up.  Wizard Flint wasn’t due back from Azkaban until tomorrow.  That left Wizard Higgs in charge; he had long since tired of using Cedric as a tool for spurious messages but someone else could have put Cedric up to it.  
          “Wizard Flint,” answered Cedric without emotion.  
          “Thank you,” said Daniel thoughtfully.  That was pretty definite.  Cedric knew the names of the people with whom he frequently worked.  If he didn’t know the name, Cedric would helplessly repeat the message again.  “Wizard Diggory,” Daniel added, “return to your seat and sit down.” Cedric turned and walked to his chair.  Did Cedric ever tire of standing or sitting?  Daniel put away his lunch box and quickly checked his appearance.  He wondered what brought Wizard Flint back so soon…

********************

          Daniel found Wizard Flint alone in his office straightening out his uniform.  Daniel stood at the door respectfully, waiting to be noticed.  “Come in here right now!” ordered the Wizard when he noticed Daniel’s arrival.  “Where have you been?” he growled.  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”   
          “I have been eating lunch,” replied Daniel respectfully giving a quick bow before stepping into the room.   
          “I know that,” snarled Wizard Flint, “but where?  You weren’t at your house, I checked!”  
          “I was in the Staff Room,” replied Daniel evenly.  Then he added silently, _“You checked my house??!!!  I hope Terika and the kids are all right!”_ Unanounced Slytherin visits to the house were always invasive and upsetting.  Wizard Flint had never before visited his house and Daniel had no idea how Flint would behave towards his family.  
          Wizard Flint’s face twisted in disgust at Daniel’s words.  “No one _ever_ goes to the Non Staff room,” he disagreed.   
          “I do,” replied Daniel coolly.  “Did you want me for something?” he asked changing the subject.  
          “Yes,” he snarled.  Using his wand Wizard Flint caused his office door to close.  Then the wizard walked to his desk, picked up a folder and handed it to Daniel.  “I want you to put this out on Muggle Security Alert immediately!” he commanded.  
          Daniel opened the folder and saw the grainy photo of the girl with green eyes!  His mouth dropped open and he looked up at Wizard Flint in surprise.  “Isn’t this the girl that you just—”  
          “Yeah, tell me about it!” Wizard Flint snapped.  
          “But, you had her secured!” said Daniel in confusion, “I saw her!  I saw both of you!”  
          “I know!” admitted Wizard Flint angrily.  “What can I say?  The little _witch_ got away!”  
          “But that’s imp—” Daniel shut his mouth.  He seemed to say that a lot about this girl.  “Tell me what happened,” he encouraged instead, filling his voice with sympathy and concern.  This was one story he did not want to miss.  
          “We had gotten under way,” began Wizard Flint, “and I had just begun my sandwich when the girl said she wasn’t feeling well…  They always say that,” added Wizard Flint dismissively while pacing the floor, “so I didn’t pay her any mind.”  
          “What happened?” asked Daniel hanging on his every word.  
          “The next thing I knew, she _puked_ all over me!”  
          “No!” said Daniel properly aghast.  “What did you do?”  
          “What do you think I did?  I pulled over to teach her a lesson!”  
          “Of course!” agreed Daniel sympathetically. He didn’t mention that by pulling over and stopping Wizard Flint had broken numerous security rules.   Of course, Daniel would have considered doing the same thing under similar circumstances.  Wands didn’t work in a Security Transport and the prospect of completing a trip to Azkaban while sitting in a compartment full of vomit would be disagreeable indeed.  “What happened next?”  
          “I had just begun explaining the rules when…” Wizard Flint rubbed his arm unconsciously.  
          “When?” prompted Daniel.  
          “When she _bit_ me!”  
          “No!”  
          “Yes!” exploded Wizard Flint angrily.  “And not only that but—”  
          “But what?” encouraged Daniel.  
          “Well, when she bit me I was so surprised my wand dropped…”  
          “Did she get it?” asked Daniel with concern.   
          “No, of course not!” retorted Wizard Flint.  “Worse!”  
          “Worse?”  
          “Yeah, I was bending over to get it when she kicked me!”  
          “Kicked you!” echoed Daniel struggling to keep a straight face.  “That’s terrible!” he exclaimed while privately wondering _“Where?”_   His imagination went wild with possible locations.  
          “Don’t I know it,” agreed Wizard Flint.  “In the shin, no less!”  
          “That must have hurt!” sympathized Daniel in a sincere sounding voice.  
          “It did!” Wizard Flint agreed.  “And then she stepped on my wand and broke it!”   
          “No!” exclaimed Daniel sounding properly distressed.  Broken wands were nearly as bad as lost or stolen wands; they required all sorts of paperwork and investigations to replace.  “What did you do?”  
          “Well, she ran and I went after her!”  
          “You caught her, surely?”  
          “I should have!” agreed Wizard Flint, “but somehow I lost her!”  
          “You lost her?” said Daniel in disbelief.  
          “Yeah,” replied Wizard Flint disgustedly.  “I was right behind her—she rounded the corner and when I reached the corner, she was gone!”  
          “Gone?”  
          “Gone!” repeated Wizard Flint angrily.  “I searched everywhere and there was no sign of her!  I can’t think where she got to so fast!” he muttered in frustration.  “But we’ll find her!” he added determinedly.  “She can’t have gone far.  I already notified Wizard Security and called out the dementors.  Do you have any idea who the girl is?”   
          “No sir, she never said,” replied Daniel honestly.  The false name she had given didn’t count.  
          “That’s what I thought.  I already have Higgs doing a “Non” Head Count; I want to find out who she is immediately!  Her parents are going to pay for this too!  That little brat is going to regret having ever crossed me!”  
           “She will indeed,” agreed Daniel.  “What else would you like me to do?” he asked becoming business-like taking out an order form and a quill.  This order would require notes to make sure he didn’t forget anything…  It also protected Daniel should Wizard Flint try to later claim Daniel failed to follow orders properly.   
           “Well,” began Wizard Flint, “besides notifying Muggle Security, I want you to get her photo and description on all the Muggle Crime Alert systems.  The information you need is all ready for you in the folder,” he added nodding to the folder he had given Daniel earlier.  “I want finding her given top priority!”  
          “Yes, sir,” said Daniel writing rapidly.  “What crime shall I assign the girl?”  That was for the benefit of the Muggles.  He couldn’t tell them they were looking for a fugitive witch.  
          “I don’t know,” replied Wizard Flint in an annoyed voice.  “Say she is wanted for questioning in connection to whatever the latest terrorist attack is on record.”     
          “Very well, sir,” said Daniel continuing to write. That would be the missing cruise ship off the coast of Ireland, if Daniel’s memory was correct, and it usually was.  “Anything else?”  
          “Yes, hand her photo and description to the _Daily Prophet_ and put her on the Wizard Persons of Interest Alert as well.  I want to make sure there is no place she can hide!”  
          Wizard Flint rubbed his arm again.  “When I get my hands on her she’ll wish she had gone quietly to Azkaban.  You don’t happen to have anything for bites on that potion shelf of yours do you?”   
          “Uh, no,” responded Daniel with a straight face.  “But I will see to it that I get some immediately for future use,” he added.  Prominently labeled and displayed.  No, strike that! The bite potion would be placed in the most inoculous, unlabeled bottle Daniel could find. Wizard Flint would never tolerate a visual reminder of this incident and Daniel wanted to remember and savor the event for years to come.  “I do have some potions to reduce pain, if you think that might help,” Daniel suggested solicitously.  “I’m afraid they’re not up to First Class standards in taste, though.”  
          “That’s O.K.  I’ll manage,” replied Wizard Flint rubbing his arm again.  “I don’t have time anyway.  I’m going to Thorpe.”  
          “Thorpe, sir?”   
          “Yes.  It seems that our little witch bought _two_ tickets to Thorpe, not one.  The bus will be getting in soon and I want to be there to pick up the other person!  Then we can use that person to trap her!”  
          “An excellent idea!  Will there be anything else?”   
          “I think that about covers it,” replied Wizard Flint thoughtfully.  
          “Then I’ll get started.”  
          “You do that.”  Daniel turned to leave.  
          “One more thing…”   
          Daniel froze in place.  “Sir?” he questioned.  
          “I’ve, uh, a _potions_ clean-up for you to do…”  
          Daniel turned and looked at Wizard Flint.  “Sir?” Wizard Flint nodded significantly at a security bag sitting on the floor next to the desk.  “And, uh, another one for you in Security Transport Number Two…  It’s parked in the Muggle street outside Wizard Security so you’d better take care of it first.  The transport, ah, wasn’t safe to bring into headquarters in that condition.  Do them both as soon as you finish delivering the Alerts.”  
            “Yes sir,” replied Daniel keeping his face perfectly neutral.  They both knew it wasn’t potions that Wizard Flint was talking about.  Daniel pulled out a new order form, which he filled out and then handed it to Wizard Flint.   
            Wizard Flint looked briefly at the page and signed it quickly.  He held it out for Daniel.  When Daniel reached out to take the page Wizard Flint suddenly grabbed Daniel by the collar and pulled him in close.  “Don’t you breathe a word about this, _ever,_ do you understand?” he hissed threateningly in Daniel’s ear.  
           Daniel’s heart raced uncontrollably.  It had been a long time since a Slytherin had physically manhandled him but the instinctive fear learned at Hogwarts was still there.  “Of course not,” replied Daniel, keeping his voice barely above a whisper so it wouldn’t tremble.  Daniel slowly used his free hand to reach into his pocket and pulled out a new Order Form.  Wizard Flint looked at it questioningly.  “She isn’t my case,” continued Daniel sounding calmer than he felt.  His quill floated gently out and started writing rapidly on the form.  “I have no reason to talk to anyone about any of this,” he added holding out the finished Order to the Wizard, “with this, I can’t.”  
           Wizard Flint stared at Daniel, his cold blue eyes appraising him thoughtfully.  Abruptly he released his grip on Daniel.  Daniel staggered a bit regaining his balance then he stood in place still holding the Order.  The Wizard snatched the paper from Daniel’s hand and signed it.  “See that you remember that,” he told Daniel handing the form back.   
          Daniel closed his eyes and breathed a short sigh in relief.  “Yes, sir,” he nodded taking the signed form and adding it to the others in his folder.  Of course, they both knew that were he ordered to do so, Daniel would turn all Order Forms over to a Death Eater or his designated representative for inspection; at which time Daniel would honestly answer any and all questions put to him.  But Wizard Flint would no doubt make sure Daniel’s name would never come up concerning today’s events so no one would ever think to question him.  That suited Daniel just fine.  It meant no one would have the opportunity to ask Daniel about his interview with the girl; never learn she could be headed to London, or had blonde hair…  
          The door swung open abruptly.  Both Daniel and Wizard Flint looked up. Wizard Higgs walked inside with four other wizards.  Daniel looked hastily down and away: _Death Eaters!_ They looked for excuses to cast their curses.  Daniel only had a brief glimpse but he recognized them all.  There were three Death Eaters and one regular wizard.  The regular wizard was a very old thin man with large pale silvery eyes.  That was Mr. Olivander, the wand maker.  It was from him that Daniel had first gotten his wand so many years ago.   
          The other three were Wizards Malfoy and Goyle, and Witch Bulstrode.  They were older than Daniel and called themselves the New Death Eaters, part of the select younger generation who had sworn loyalty to the Dark Lord after his ascent to power.   Wizard Malfoy was fairly tall with blond hair and a pale pointed face.  He had a dislike for all things Muggle.  His father, Lucius Malfoy, currently served as the Muggle Prime Minister and proudly looked down upon the very people he supposedly served.  Wizard Goyle was almost the same height as Wizard Malfoy but was much heavier with thick muscles beneath his robe.  Witch Bulstrode was shorter than the other two Death Eaters.  She was a thin lady with beady black eyes, thin lips and red-brown hair pulled back in a tight bun.   
          “Sorry to disturb you,” said Wizard Higgs, “but I’ve a “Non” Head Count to be done and he’s the last one in the station to be counted,” Wizard Higgs added explaining while he nodded towards Daniel.   
          “That’s all right,” said Wizard Flint taking the Runner folder from Daniel and moving back to his desk, “We’re finished here.”

********************

          Wizard Higgs stepped forward.  Wizards Malfoy and Goyle moved into position with wands extended on either side of Daniel.  They were precisely three arms’ length in distance as was required by the official procedure concerning Head Counts.  They both stood far enough away so Daniel couldn’t reach them yet close enough to use their wands on Daniel if necessary.   
          Wizard Higgs unrolled an official parchment and read aloud.  “By official order of Wizard Security,” he began in an imperious tone, “you are hereby commanded to participate in a head and wand count.  Failure to comply will result in your immediate imprisonment.”  That’s what the Death Eaters were for, in case Daniel tried to resist or run, they would subdue him using whatever force was necessary…  
          Wizards Malfoy and Goyle pointed their wands menacingly at Daniel as if daring him to make a move.  Daniel knew better.  Both wizards had a reputation for firing curses first and asking questions later.  If the rumors were true they already had several “kills” to their names.  
          “State your name and rank for the record,” droned Wizard Higgs.  
          “Lieutenant Daniel Pilkington, Senior Detective, Wizard, Second Class,” Daniel replied in a wooden tone.  Like all Nons, he hated these counts but could do nothing about them.  
          “Lieutenant Daniel Pilkington, Senior Detective, Wizard, Second Class is on the Register,” confirmed Witch Bulstrode in a formal authoritative voice reading from her own parchment paper.  Her voice was harsh and rough; it grated on Daniel’s ear.  
          “Visual Identification, confirmed,” said Wizard Higgs.  “I know him personally.”  
          “Check,” said Witch Bulstrode.  
          “Produce your wand for inspection,” Wizard Higgs commanded.  Wizards Malfoy and Goyle tensed up; they watched closely as Daniel pulled out his wand.  If Daniel planned to resist, this would be the best moment.  Everyone in the room visibly relaxed when Daniel merely handed his wand to Wizard Olivander for inspection.   
          Wizards Malfoy and Goyle both eased their stance.  “Another sniveling coward!” taunted Wizard Malfoy with a sigh of disgust.   
          Daniel ignored him keeping his eyes carefully lowered. The real resistors had been weeded out years ago, most killed outright.  The Nons who still remained free would not dream of resisting; for them, the price was too high.  This made the Death Eater presence more of a formality.  Unfortunately, the lack of resistance created some very bored Death Eaters looking for any excuse to cast their spells.  
          Wizard Olivander looked at Daniel’s wand carefully.  “Oak,” he pronounced softly, “twelve inches with the heartstrings of Dragon.”  
          “Oak,” repeated Witch Bulstrode, “twelve inches with the heartstrings of Dragon.  That should be Pilkington’s wand,” she confirmed.  “Last spell used?” she asked.  
          Daniel thought swiftly.  What had been the last spell he had used with it?  At the very least a wrong answer guaranteed stiff fines and whatever non-lethal curses the Death Eaters decided to cast.  Matters would be much worse if Daniel couldn’t get the answer right—that would imply someone else had used the wand.  “Uh, _Buxis Capsula_ ,” he replied.  “For lunch,” he added knowing that would be her next question.  Of course it hadn’t been _his_ lunch but that was of no concern of theirs.  Hopefully Wizard Flint would not want Daniel to explain further and would prevent further inquiry about spells.  
          “Yeah,” agreed Wizard Flint, “I saw him use it.”  
          Wizard Olivander placed the tip of his wand against the tip of Daniel’s wand and whispered _“Prior Incantato!”_   The wand sparked briefly and a folding box erupted from the point where the two wands met.  Wizard Olivander nodded.  _“Buxis Capsula,”_ he confirmed.  
          “Last spell used: _Buxis Capsula_.  Confirmed,” said Witch Bulstrode loudly in her gravelly voice.  “Are you carrying any other wands?”  
          “No,” replied Daniel.  Suddenly he felt his whole body go rigid as Wizard Malfoy cast the wand-seeking spell on him.  They never took anyone’s word when it came to a Head Count.  The wand-seeking spell lasted but a moment and then Daniel’s limbs went limp again.   Daniel swayed a bit before regaining his balance.   
          “He’s clean,” confirmed Wizard Malfoy.   
          “Check,” replied Witch Bulstrode firmly.  “Arms at your side; open your mouth,” she commanded drawing out a sinister looking black bottle.  Wizards Malfoy and Goyle raised their wands and tensed up again.  They would happily cast a spell to tie Daniel up if he didn’t comply.   
          Daniel looked with dismay at the size of the spoon Witch Bulstrode pulled out.  “A serving spoon?” he thought in despair wanting to plead for less.  Daniel knew that they needed no more than a teaspoon at most but he kept his words to himself.  He’d heard stories of how the Death Eaters had gleefully poured the contents of the whole bottle down the throats of protesting Nons.   
          Witch Bulstrode uncorked the bottle and poured the black sparkling goo into the spoon filling it to the brim.  “Open your mouth,” she commanded again harshly, “and tip your head back.”  Her black eyes glittered malevolently watching him while she waited for Daniel to respond.  
          Daniel swallowed uncomfortably.  This was by far the worst part of a “Non” Head Count.  Daniel hated the potion and idea of being force-fed the stuff like a baby.  Unfortunately, there was no way out of it.  They wouldn’t let him have the filled spoon to take the potion himself in case he could somehow transfigure the potion into something less potent, not that such a thing was even possible.  Daniel knew the Death Eaters would force the stuff down his throat whether he liked it or not.  Better to cooperate and retain some shred of dignity than not.   
          Daniel closed his eyes, tipped his head back and reluctantly opened his mouth. Then he smelled it coming near.  Daniel always tried to hold his breath, but somehow it never worked.  The stuff smelled nasty:  something like a rotting putrefied skunk mixed with rotting fish and every other thing he had ever smelled that was dead and dying.  Instinctively he tried to close his mouth and get away but someone roughly grabbed his hair and yanked his head back even farther while unseen hands grabbed his jaw and opened his mouth wider.  Daniel clenched his fists and made himself not move, not resist.   
          The whole glob of the ghastly stuff hit his tongue at once and started to slither down his throat.  Tasting indescribably worse than castor oil, Daniel’s gag reflex immediately set in; he started choking and trying to spit it up but the same hand that held his mouth open now forced it closed and held it shut.  Daniel’s hands instinctively moved up to his throat but they were suddenly squeezed tight to his sides.  
          “That’s the way,” whispered a voice in his ears.  “Want to struggle some more?” the voice invited.  But Daniel was way past caring what the voice said.  The first of the potion had made it down his throat and his whole body seemed consumed with trying to get rid of it.  Daniel jerked and convulsed uncontrollably; the hand clutching his jaw held him up while he struggled helplessly.  Suddenly the restriction around his chest vanished and Daniel’s arms flew free.  The hand let go of Daniel’s jaw and Daniel dropped to the floor coughing and gagging but unable to vomit.  Daniel placed his hands on the floor to steady himself.  
          “No reaction to the potion,” came the harsh clinically disinterested voice.  “Identity confirmed.”   
          Of course there was a reaction to the potion!  The stuff was horrible!  But that was the usual reaction, not the reaction for which they watched.  

********************

          Daniel had first tasted the Black Potion when he was attending Hogwarts. Headmaster Snape had called together the whole student population and lined up the Nons the second day of exams one year.  He instructed the Slytherins to give each Non a single teaspoon of the black stuff.   Not knowing what to expect, there had been no resistance and no need for restraints.  It hadn’t smelled as bad then either, as Daniel recalled.  Anyway, the physical reaction had been much the same.   
           When Daniel had stopped gagging and convulsing and could again look around he discovered four of his classmates had hideous black boils covering their face, hands and presumably the rest of their bodies.  The Slytherins snickered delightedly.  Headmaster Snape’s black eyes narrowed dangerously and he scowled as he scrutinized the four but said not a word.  Then he sent the four to the infirmary.  The rest of the Nons were sent to their Dorm and placed into lock-down for the rest of the day.   
           The four later returned to the dorms with the boils gone but their skin still covered with huge black patches. Their skin remained blackened for days afterwards from the experience.  They said the potion had burned like fire when it went down their throat.  The four never said a word as to the reason the black coloured potion might have affected them differently, no doubt sworn to secrecy by some Slytherin, but Daniel had a pretty good idea.  He knew those four had used Polyjuice Potion just the day before to take an exam in place of some particularly stupid Slytherins.   
           Daniel knew this because on various occasions he had seen each of the four practice copying handwriting samples; Daniel had been doing the same thing no doubt for the same reason.  A month earlier Graham Pritchard had cornered Daniel and started making him practice the handwriting of Graham’s younger brother Stewart.  Stewart was a year younger than Daniel and particularly horrible at Potions.  He needed a good exam score to offset all his previous marks.  Graham planned to give Daniel some Polyjuice Potion and make Daniel take the exam in place of Stewart.  Graham promised dire consequences if Daniel failed to convince the Professor of his identity as Stewart and/or failed to pass the exam.  
          The students were released from lock-down the next day and the Slytherins, though not their usual arrogant selves, said not a word about what had happened in the Nons’ absence.  Graham pinned Daniel down after breakfast and made it clear that Daniel would _still_ be taking Stewart’s exam on schedule.  Graham was of the opinion that as Daniel had already taken the Polyjuice revealing potion and passed there should be no problem with the exam.  Graham met Daniel in the bathroom right before Stewart’s exam and fed him the Polyjuice Potion.  Daniel immediately became violently sick—more than what he had been led to expect from a Polyjuice Potion.  Daniel never changed shapes but instead got progressively sicker and sicker.  His hands shook so badly Daniel couldn’t hold a quill let alone write; he stomach cramped up and he began to vomit.  When Daniel wasn’t vomiting, he was screaming in agony...  After that, Daniel didn’t remember anything until he woke up in the infirmary three days later with a throat so raw and scratchy he could scarcely whisper.   
          Friends later told him more of the story.  Headmaster Snape noticed Daniel’s absence at lunch and immediately initiated a search.  They found Daniel two hours later stuffed in the garbage bin at the old Groundskeeper’s house curled up in a ball screaming in pain. No one had heard his cries earlier because someone had placed a _Muffeliato_ spell around Daniel.  Daniel was found still shaking and trying to vomit though he had long since emptied his stomach.  The Headmaster had again placed the Nons in a lock-down for the rest of the day and afterwards exams continued on as usual…  Daniel took his exams under supervision while still in the infirmary that year.  He never learned what score Stewart got on his potions exam or if he ever took it.  Neither Graham nor Stewart ever came near Daniel again.   
          Every year afterwards the Nons were lined up once or twice during exams and made to take the Black Potion. The experience was positively revolting every time and the Slytherins took great enjoyment in holding down the uncooperative Nons but Daniel noticed the Slytherins also stopped using Nons in disguise to augment their exam scores.  
          Security Officials included the Black Potion in “Non” Head Counts soon afterwards.  It insured no Non could use the Polyjuice Potion to be counted twice, while trying to cover for a missing Non. There were a lot of missing Nons in the early years.  Daniel had no idea what would happen to someone who swallowed the Black Potion while actually under a Polyjuice Potion disguise, but it was probably something horrible.  As the use of Polyjuice Potion was strictly prohibited for Nons, a reaction to the Black Potion alerted Security officials of illegal activities.  The potion’s lingering effects also prevented Nons from using Polyjuice Potion long after a Head Count.

********************

          Eventually the coughing and gagging slowed enough so Daniel could breathe normally again.  It actually didn’t take too long but it always seemed like an eternity.  Daniel raised his head and looked around.  The room was empty.  Daniel’s wand was on the floor besides him.  In theory someone should have remained to personally return the wand but Daniel was glad they hadn’t; at least they let him recover in privacy.  Beneath the wand was the Runner’s folder and lying next to it was the Security Case, a pointed reminder from Wizard Flint that a “Non” Head Count was no excuse to ignore his other responsibilities.  Daniel slowly rose to his feet.   
          “There has got to be another way to determine whether someone was under the effects of Polyjuice Potion,” he thought disgustedly while swallowing frequently trying to get the foul taste out of his mouth.  Swallowing didn’t work though, nor did spitting.  Spitting only made his throat hurt more.  Daniel knew the taste would linger in his mouth for several days.  Even if there were another method to determine Polyjuice use, Daniel doubted the Slytherins would use it.  They liked the effects of the Black Potion too much.  It was only given to Nons and was a grim reminder to everyone who was in power.  
          Daniel stood still for a few moments getting his bearings.  Then he straightened out his uniform.  Next, Daniel bent down, picked up the folder and grabbed the Security Case.  Then he stepped out of the office closing the door behind him. The Black Potion always left him feeling weak so Daniel chose his steps with care; he didn’t want to be seen staggering or stumbling while in the hallway.  Daniel slowly made his way to the small table in the alcove.  He set down the Security Case, poured himself a tumbler of water and drank deeply.  The water revived him a bit.  It also helped remove the foul taste in his mouth, but not much.   
          Daniel looked over at Cedric Diggory sitting straight and still in his chair.  Cedric’s head was tipped up and he was facing the ceiling. Daniel felt nothing but anger and disgust at the Death Eaters; surely they could tell Cedric was no Security threat.  They didn’t need to treat him that way.  “Wizard Diggory, straighten your head,” ordered Daniel gently.  Cedric lowered his head and again faced the wall as he usually did.  Some drops of Black Potion trickled down one side from the corner of his lips.   
          Daniel poured himself another glass of water.  Then he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the black stuff from Cedric’s lips.   Replacing the handkerchief, Daniel took another long drink and looked at Cedric thoughtfully.  Did the Black Potion’s smell and taste bother Cedric?  Did he convulse like everyone else?  On impulse, Daniel picked up another tumbler and poured out some more water.  He handed the glass to Cedric.  “Wizard Diggory,” said Daniel, “drink the water in the glass.”  Cedric drank the water emptying the tumbler; Daniel gently removed the glass from Cedric’s hand and replaced it on the table.  Then he picked up the Security case and continued on his way to his office.  
          Daniel reached his office without incident.  As always, he checked his Security Sensor before entering.  Daniel froze; someone had been in his office during his absence.  Daniel looked up and into the hazel eyes of a stranger with sandy coloured hair sitting behind his desk.

 


	9. Chapter 9

          “You’re late,” accused the stranger.  “What’s the matter?  Can’t hold your potions?” he smirked.  
          Daniel stared at the person.  He was thin and young, clearly still in his teens—a mere boy as far as Daniel was concerned.  The youth was sitting casually in the chair behind Daniel’s desk.  His crossed legs and feet rested comfortably on top of Daniel’s desk; he was reading through the papers he had found on top of Daniel’s desk.  Though dressed in a black Security Uniform, the boy was way too young to be employed by Security.  Most likely he was a summer Intern but it was best to be cautious until he knew more.  Daniel moved into the office and set his Security Case down next to the one carrying the girl’s bag.  
          “May I see your papers?” he asked politely.  
          The boy scowled and set the papers back on the desk.  “You’re supposed to bow!” he said imperiously demanding the respect he clearly felt he deserved.  
          “As are you,” agreed Daniel neutrally, without emotion.   
          “I am your superior!” he insisted.  
          “And I yours,” maintained Daniel.  He noted the questioning look in the boy’s eyes so Daniel continued. “I wear the stripes of a Lieutenant while you wear that of a private.  In this building that makes me your “Superior.”   The boy scowled again and Daniel could see the disgust flash across his face as he considered the prospect of having to “bow” to a “Non.”  “Shall we agree to _not_ bow to each other?” suggested Daniel calmly.  The boy didn’t actually agree, neither did he disagree so Daniel considered the matter closed.  He returned to his original question.  “May I see your papers?”    
          “I’m here to observe the preparation and delivery of Security Alerts,” said the boy ignoring Daniel’s request.   
          “That may be so,” replied Daniel, “but I still need to see your papers.”  
          The boy removed his feet from Daniel’s desk and looked icily up at Daniel.  “Are you calling me a liar!” he demanded threateningly.  
          “All Wizards can lie,” replied Daniel evenly while avoiding the question. “Whether they choose to do so or not is another matter.  I cannot be presumed to tell whether you lie,” he added falling back on Hogwarts rhetoric, “which is why I am _required_ to see your papers.”  
          The boy sighed and reluctantly pulled some folded papers from his pocket.  He tossed them on the desk.  He again pulled Daniel’s papers from off the desk and started thumbing through them.  Daniel reached out and picked up the boy’s papers.  He unfolded them and looked them over carefully.  They seemed to be in order.  The boy’s name was Tom Richards.  He was an Intern who had just completed his sixth year at Hogwarts; he was indeed there to observe Daniel’s preparation and delivery of Security Alerts.  Daniel was instructed to answer questions while he worked on the Alerts and let him observe a Muggle Security Station.  
          Daniel refolded the papers and placed them neatly back on the desk within reach of the boy.  “You can best observe me at work from this chair over here, Mr. Richards,” said Daniel indicating the empty chair on the other side of the desk.  
          “That’s _Wizard_ Richards,” corrected the boy proudly picking up his papers and pocketing them.  
           Daniel shrugged.  “As you wish, Wizard Richards,” he said without emotion.  Technically the boy wasn’t a “Wizard” until after his completion of schooling at Hogwarts but Daniel decided to not push the issue.  “This chair—”  
          “Who is she?” Richards interrupted tossing the photo of the green-eyed girl onto the desk for Daniel to see.   
          “A very good question,” replied Daniel raising an eyebrow and looking at Richards curiously, “one which we are in the process of determining.”  A second student from Hogwarts who didn’t recognize her?  Very interesting indeed!  
          “I only ask because my girlfriend Paige did the write-up on her,” Richards added, “I recognize her hand-writing.”  
          “Then Miss Crowley is very talented,” replied Daniel honestly.  
          “She is!” agreed Richards proudly, “best of the class!”  
          “Indeed,” replied Daniel with interest.  The girl’s disguise wasn’t all that good.  Someone who was “best of the class” would have surely recognized her…   Why hadn’t she?  Aloud he added, “Unfortunately some people are more difficult to identify than others.  But you are here to observe the Alert process not Identification procedures and I need to get to work.”  He nodded significantly to the second chair.   
          Richards noticed the look and got the hint.  He put the papers down but instead placed his feet back on the desk, leaned back in the chair and said challengingly, “I like this chair.”   
          Daniel sighed.  He hated working with Slytherin Interns.  They were so full of themselves and their power.  “Then keep the chair,” he said refusing to argue.  He sat down in the second chair and pulled out his wand.  _“Mesa inversion!”_ he said pointing the wand at his desk.  Sparks flew out of his wand and the drawers switched from one side to the other along with the opening for the chair.  In addition, the desk slid out from under Richard’s feet and positioned itself in front of Daniel.  Richard’s feet landed on the floor with a loud thunk and he was jolted upright in his chair.  
          Richard’s face turned red and he rose quickly from the chair while drawing out his wand angrily, “How dare you—”  
          “I have a Priority Muggle Alert to get out,” interrupted Daniel smoothly before Richards could continue further.  “The very thing you have been sent to observe.  I have been ordered to do it by Wizard Flint, _Captain_ Flint, First Order, a _Superior_ to both of us.  I think that takes priority over chair preferences, don’t you?”  
          Richards subsided back into his chair at the name of Wizard Flint.  He stowed his wand back in place and looked at Daniel with blazing eyes.  “I’m going to be head of this department one day,” he told Daniel not bothering to hide his contempt for Daniel in his voice.   
          “No doubt,” agreed Daniel acknowledging the inevitable.  Slytherins entered the Security workforce as “Captains” so there would be no confusion as to who was in charge.  “And then I will bow to you and obey _your_ orders over that of an Intern.  But now, I must get to work.”  Daniel pulled out a small tan wooden box from his top drawer and set it on his desk.  Using his wand he tapped the top two times and the box unfolded revealing an antique black manual Muggle-style typewriter inside.  
          “What’s that?” asked Richards curiously.  
          “It’s a Muggle device called a “typewriter,” replied Daniel while he pulled out a standard blank Muggle Security Alert form.  Each form consisted of two pages affixed together.  Each page had the heading “Security Alert” in crimson followed by a large crimson “S” that filled the rest of the page like a huge watermark.  This prevented Muggle or Wizard counterfeiting.  The second page was the official Wizard record and was filed here.  “It takes the place of a quill and ink,” Daniel added explaining.  He hand wrote the date and time in the space provided on the top of the form.  That magically activated the papers so he could fill out the form in duplicate.  
          “Why would you use that?”  
          “Because Muggles are more comfortable when dealing with familiar things,” explained Daniel feeding the form into the typewriter.  “This kind of writing is more familiar to them.”  Daniel lined the page so the blanks could be filled out.  
          “Why do we care?” Richards asked disdainfully.  
           “Because we want their assistance in finding this person and uncomfortable people are not very helpful.”  Daniel pulled out the Runner’s Form from the folder, pointed his wand at the typewriter, and began to slowly read out loud the information provided on the form.  “Unnamed girl aged 13-14 with long brown hair and green eyes…”  As he spoke, the keys on the typewriter moved rapidly back and forth typing the letters of each word.  When the row was finished, a soft bell rang, the carriage turned and whizzed automatically to the other side of the page; it then matched itself with the next blank line.  
          “Why don’t we just order them to help?  You know, cast the _Imperius Curse_?” Richards interrupted.   
          Daniel sighed and lifted his wand thus stopping the typing.  The typewriter had just included all of Richards’ words; those words had to be erased.  Daniel should have warned Richards to be quiet.  “There are too many Muggles,” he answered rolling the carriage back to before Richard’s words.  “It would take too much time and effort to bewitch them all.  It’s much easier to gain their cooperation willingly.”  Using a standard school spell, Daniel erased all the undesirable ink marks.  Then he carefully backtracked the paper position so the typewriter would begin where he had left off.  
          “I don’t see why I can’t hang out with a Slytherin to learn all this stuff,” complained Richards suddenly.  “I’d learn it better!”  
          “Probably because there are no Slytherin officials in Security who do Muggle Alerts,” Daniel answered.  “Perhaps you would like to take on that responsibility so other Interns will not have to suffer the “indignity” of working under Nons,” he invited.  
          “Not me!” said Richards shaking his head and giving a grimace at the thought.  “Why do I even have to know this stuff if I’m never going to use it?” he protested.  
          “As Captain, you would be expected to supervise those of us who do,” replied Daniel calmly.  “It might help if you knew what we did.”  Richards sat back thoughtfully.  “Are there any other questions?” asked Daniel.  Richards shook his head.  Daniel re-pointed his wand and continued with his dictation.  “…last seen in the area of Aylesbury…”  Daniel was strangely reassured that the Alert would in no way connect the girl with Little Whinging.  He suspected the name “Little Whinging” could set off all sorts of red flags in the upper Wizard community.  “…wanted for questioning in connection with the disappearance of the _Royal Ann_ Cruise Ship of June 26, now believed to be the result of a terrorist attack…”  
          “A terrorist attack!” burst out Richards.  Daniel hastily picked up his wand thus stopping the typing.  “Her?!!!  Are you kidding?  Why are you saying that?”  
          “I can’t say she’s a runaway witch,” explained Daniel patiently.  He backed up the carriage again.  “Muggles don’t know about us.  Wizard Flint wants her connected with terrorist activities so the Muggles will be more likely to watch for her and, if spotted, be more likely to turn her in.  There were a lot of Muggles on that ship and their families are still seeking news of what happened.  If it would help them learn about the _Royal Ann_ and their own families, the Muggles wouldn’t hesitate to report the girl should they see her.”  
          “But wasn’t that the ship the New Death Eaters used for spell and target practice?”  
          “It was,” agreed Daniel shortly.  He had felt physically ill when he read the Security Bulletin at the time instructing him to keep out of the area.  “But we can’t tell the Muggles that either.  So the missing ship has been blamed on unnamed terrorists and the Muggles are still looking for the persons responsible.”  Daniel used his wand to erase Richard’s words on the page and then finished up the document.  He pulled the form out of the typewriter and placed it on the desk.   
          Daniel wrote _as per orders of Wizard Flint_ on bottom left corner of the second page, the one to be filed.  He included his name, the date and the Wizard Order number.  Then Daniel signed it.  Next, he removed the Security Pin from his lapel.  Giving it three twists, the pin expanded to the size of a medallion. Daniel tapped it twice with his wand and then pressed the face of the medallion onto the second page.  Immediately a red circle appeared inscribed with a crimson coloured “S.”   A similar one appeared magically on the top page.  That made the document official.  
           “That’s a pretty cool Security Pin,” observed Richards thoughtfully.   
          Daniel looked up and saw a calculating look on Richard’s face.  “It would require an order countersigned by both Rabastan Lestrange, head of Wizard Security and Barty Crouch, Director of Wizard Purification or an order from the Dark Lord himself before I would turn this pin over to anyone,” Daniel told Richards flatly.  
          Richards frowned.  “Just thinking,” he said dismissively.  
          “Think of something else,” Daniel told him as he set the seal/pin down.  “I am required to file a report on anyone who even makes inquiries about it.  The use of an Official Wizard Security Seal is not to be taken lightly.”  
          “Should you be telling me this?”  
          Daniel separated the two pages placing one on either side of his desk and shrugged.  “Why not?” he said to Richards.  “It’s in the regulations.  I am only reminding you of what you already know.”  That was assuming Richards had bothered to read the regulations, which Daniel doubted.  The Security Regulations Manual was very thick and very, very boring.  Few of Daniel’s superiors had attempted to read it and those that did rarely finished.  Daniel, on the other hand, had been quizzed thoroughly on its contents just to get hired as a Security employee.  He was grilled about it again before receiving his appointment as Detective and promotion to Lieutenant.  “I try to follow the rules to the letter,” added Daniel.  “Please don’t involve me in any Slytherin intrigue.  All I want is to do my job and come home to my wife and family safely every day.”  
          Richards leaned back in his chair.  “I thought the ones working in Security might be different but I was wrong.  You Nons really _are_ a bunch of wimps!” he said with disgust.   
          Daniel shrugged again.  Verbal taunts no longer bothered him.  “We merely have different priorities,” he told Richards.  “Wizards Lestrange and Crouch are very demanding employers and do not give second chances to those working under them.”  
          Richards sighed.  “So I’ve heard.”  But it didn’t seem to concern him.  “What do you do next?” he asked changing the topic.   
          “Next, I prepare the Runner’s photo for distribution,” replied Daniel.  He pulled out the moving photo from the folder and withdrew a specially prepared photo page from his desk drawer.  It was transparent.  
          “Why aren’t you using other photo, the still?” inquired Richards.   
          “I was instructed to use this one,” replied Daniel.  
          “But the other is much clearer…”   
          “You would have to consult Wizard Flint about that,” said Daniel firmly.  “I am sure he has his reasons but he did not share them with me.  Nor did I ask.  It is my duty to obey, not question, the orders of my superior.”   
          When the face of the girl in the moving photo was at it’s clearest, Daniel froze the scene.  Then he placed the photo page on top.  Immediately the image of the photo transferred to the second page.  Daniel used his wand to erase the background, foreground and anything else unrelated. What remained was the image of the head and shoulders of a young girl wearing a gray sweatshirt with green eyes and long brown braids.  
          “That looks like a lot of work,” commented Richards watching Daniel with interest.  “Why don’t you just give them a copy of the photo?”  
          “Muggle photos don’t move, for one thing,” replied Daniel.   
          “But you could just freeze a pose and give that to them…”  
          “We could,” agreed Daniel, “but the Muggles are unaware that we have surveillance means unconnected to theirs.  A copy of the original photo would reveal not only the presence of our surveillance, but also the location of our Wizard Eyes.  This way they have the photo but not the extra information,” he explained.  Daniel took out a second photo page and placed it on the top of the photo.  Immediately a perfect copy appeared. Daniel attached the original modified photo to the Muggle Security Alert form and the copy to the Wizard form meant for filing.  
          “Now what are you doing?” asked Richards when Daniel drew Wizard Flint’s original order form from his pocket.   
          “I am double-checking my work for accuracy,” replied Daniel as he read.  “I don’t want to make a mistake in following Wizard Flint’s orders,” he explained.   
          “What happens if you do?” inquired Richards curiously.  
          “Then I get in trouble,” replied Daniel bluntly.  He left the possible consequences to Richards’ imagination.   
          “What happens if one of his orders does not make it on that form?”  
          “That’s not possible,” said Daniel flatly while looking up.  “Wizard Flint gives me his orders, I write them down and he double checks to make sure I got them accurately.   Then, and only then will he counter sign the order.”  At least that was the way it was supposed to work.  Sometimes the wizards didn’t bother to double check before counter-signing.  
          Richards leaned forward, “But what if he forgets an order?”  
          “Then he fills out a second order form.”  
          “But what if he forgets to make that order?”  
          “Then the order was unnecessary,” said Daniel stiffly.   
          “What if he forgets something necessary and you knew—”  
          “I _don’t_ know,” interrupted Daniel.  This “What if?” game had gone on long enough.  “As a Non, I cannot be expected to understand or second guess the more complex workings of a Superior’s mind.  I should neither question nor challenge the orders given by a Superior,” Daniel added repeating the litany he had learned at Hogwarts, words he knew were still taught at Hogwarts.  “My responsibility is to serve and obey to the best of my ability.”  
          “But, what about loyalty?”  
          “Nons are not capable of giving loyalty; they can only serve and obey,” stated Daniel softly.  It was a phrase often repeated at Hogwarts, one no doubt Richards knew well.  “Loyalty can only be given to the Dark Lord,” added Daniel in a whisper while looking straight ahead.  It was another phrase taught at Hogwarts and one Richards could not debate.  To do so would be committing treason.  In the silence that followed Daniel looked down at his papers one last time and then said, “I’ve finished my double-check.  It’s ready for delivery.”   
          “Are we going to deliver it?” asked Richards eagerly happy to change the subject.  
          “Not yet,” replied Daniel.  “I have two other Security Alerts to prepare so I’m going to get them done first.  Then we can deliver them all at the same time.”  Daniel pulled out another Security Alert form. There were three pages this time and a Crimson “V” watermark filled each page. “This one goes to both the _Daily Prophet_ and the Wizard Persons of Interest Alert as well,” he explained taking out his quill.  Daniel copied the pertinent information on the new form.  He indicated that the girl had broken several Wizard laws (but didn’t specify what) and was wanted for questioning but omitted the terrorist part.  Daniel again signed the bottom page.  After tapping the Wizard Security Seal once with his wand, he pressed it on the bottom page.   A crimson “V” appeared on all three pages.  
          When he had separated the pages, Daniel made a copy of the moving photo.  Daniel edited out the background selecting only her head and shoulders to show moving eerily back and forth.  When he was satisfied with the pose and movement he made two more copies of the photo.  Finally, he again double-checked his work against the original order before pronouncing it complete.  Daniel then attached one copy of the photo to each Alert and one to the form to be filed.    
          Next Daniel carefully folded his first Alert and put it in a cream-coloured parchment paper envelope and sealed it.  Pulling out a special red quill, he wrote the words _Security Alert_ in red on the outside.  Then he turned the other two Alerts over.  Using the same pen, he wrote _Security Alert ordered by Wizard Flint_ on the top of each.  Then he placed his initials underneath.   
          “You’re not doing the order?” inquired Richards leaning forward obviously reading Daniel’s words upside down.   
          “No,” replied Daniel.  “I am not authorized to issue Security Alerts.”  No Non was, as Richards should know.  
          “Ever think of doing an Alert on your own using Wizard Flint’s name?”  
          “No,” replied Daniel firmly.  Daniel would loose his job or worse if he were ever caught doing something like that.  Besides, most Alerts were for fugitive Nons and escaped Mudbloods and Daniel would never consider making their lives more difficult.  Daniel rolled together the three Alerts intended for filing and tied them with red ribbon.  Then he rolled the other two Alerts separately and tied each with a red ribbon also.   
          “Do you know why everything is done in red?” blurted Richards.  
          “No,” said Daniel as he picked up his Security Seal.  He had heard things of course, but nothing confirmed and nothing he would ever repeat.  Daniel tapped the medallion three times with his wand returning it to the shape of a lapel pin.  
          Richards leaned forward so he could lower his voice.  “I think it’s because _he_ has red eyes!”  
          “Indeed,” said Daniel neutrally while affixing the pin securely on his uniform.  Other Slytherins had said the same thing but they had been speculating too.   
          “That’s right!” said Richards with a gleam in his eyes.  “I _saw_ them when _he_ made his last inspection at Hogwarts.  “Bet you wish you could have seen them…” Richards taunted.  Daniel didn’t respond.  They both knew terrible things happened to Nons bold enough to raise their heads and look upon the face of the Dark Lord when he made his visits.  
          “Do you know why there are “V’s” everywhere?” continued Richards cheerfully.  “It’s the first letter in _his_ name!” he answered without waiting for a response.  “Bet you don’t know his name either, do you?”  
          “I don’t _need_ to know,” replied Daniel sharply cutting off the conversation and standing abruptly.  He knew the name, though.  A Gryffindor, when there were Gryffindors, had whispered it into his ear once; Daniel never had the courage to repeat the name aloud though.  Daniel suspected that those who actually dealt with the Dark Lord never spoke about him so casually.  “There,” said Daniel gathering up the envelope and all the parchments.  “We’re ready to go.  Come along.”  Daniel stepped out of the office; he paused to allow Richards to catch up and then the two took off down the hall.

********************

          The first stop was the Owlery.  Daniel selected two Great Horned Owls and attached a rolled parchment Alert on each using more red ribbon.  They were the official messenger birds of Wizard Security.  No one else could use Great Horned Owls.  He sent one owl off to the _Daily Prophet_ and the other to Security Public Affairs, marked attention:  Wizard Persons of Interest.  Then Daniel walked down to Filing to hand in his copies.  He could have used a messenger, but preferred to do it by hand on priority orders.  Throughout all, Richards followed Daniel at a considerable distance behind no doubt trying to appear as if the two were not traveling together.    
          Next, Daniel started towards the Apparation chamber.  Daniel slowed his step forcing Richards to catch up.  Daniel had some things to discuss before they Apparated to the Muggle Security Station.  “Who’s that?” asked Richards suddenly as they neared Cedric Diggory sitting straight and tall in his seat.  
          “That’s Wizard Diggory,” replied Daniel.  
          “The idiot!” said Richards excitedly stopping to look closer.  “I’ve heard about him!  Stand up!” commanded Richards.  Cedric remained seated.  
          “That _idiot_ once won the Triwizard Competition,” Daniel coldly informed Richards.  
          Richards turned to Daniel.  “How do you make him go?” he demanded.   
          “Wizard Diggory is not some plaything,” answered Daniel sternly while avoiding the question. “You may note,” he added.  “That he wears the insignia of a Corporal.  Why should he stand for you?”  All Nons entered Wizard Security as Corporals.  That way civilian Slytherins could not order them away from Security duties.  Richards frowned in frustration.  He was clearly used to getting his own way.  “Come along,” said Daniel moving away from Cedric.  “We have things to get done.”   
          Richards reluctantly followed.  “He’ll do what I say when I’m Captain, right?” questioned Richards.  “And I don’t have to sign any forms for him either, right?”   
          Daniel sighed.  Slytherins were naturally ambitious and Richards’ questions made it obvious that he was already making future plans of some sort.  Seeing what was done to a Triwizard Champion had clearly made no impression on Richards.  Daniel hoped Richards would have the sense to rise within the system and not challenge the Death Eaters.  But Richards was not the sort to listen to a word of caution from a Non.  “You’ll be briefed about Wizard Diggory when you are Captain,” Daniel replied.  Like most of the younger generation, Richards had led a protected life under the shelter of the Dark Lord’s power.  He had no comprehension of the actual power wielded by the Death Eaters.  Daniel knew better.   
          Daniel had only met one Death Eater outside of Headmaster Snape.  It had been enough.  The occasion was when he had been promoted to Lieutenant.  Daniel had given his wand to Wizard Security Head Rabastan Lestrange and knelt before him, not out of loyalty, but because he had been ordered to do so.  Wizard Lestrange expected no loyalty from a Non, only his or her obedience.  Then Wizard Lestrange proceeded to rip through Daniel’s mind as if it were tissue paper shredding it apart, seeking its every secrets.  While still reeling from the mental assault Wizard Lestrange whispered in Daniel’s ear describing in vivid detail what would happen to Daniel and his family should Daniel ever fail to obey the orders of his superiors.  Daniel had rigidly followed regulations ever since.  
          Daniel stopped in front of the Apparation chamber.  “One more thing before we Apparate,” Daniel told Richards.  “As you haven’t been trained in Muggle management I must remind you that you need to implicitly follow the orders of your superior while at the Muggle Station; unfortunately for you,” Daniel added, “that’s me.”  Daniel could see the distaste forming on Richard’s face so he continued quickly before Richards had a chance to speak.  “What that involves is you stand guard at the doorway.  Stay put,” he instructed.  “Do not speak, do not move and do not, for whatever reason, draw your wand.  If you fail to follow these directions then you will be held financially responsible for any consequences of your actions.”  Daniel pulled out a pink coloured form and held it out to Richards while he continued to speak.  “Now, if you don’t think you can handle that say so now and you will not Apparate.”  
          “What’s that?” asked Richards eying the paper suspiciously.   
          “That paper is an acknowledgement you sign indicating you have received this instruction and agree to abide by it.”    
          “That’s like an order for me from you, isn’t it?” Richards said with distaste.  The thought of a Non giving him orders was clearly unsettling.  
          “Yes,” agreed Daniel neutrally keeping his face carefully without emotion.  “It says exactly what I have just told you.  I am required to get your signature on it to before I can let you Apparate with me.”  
          “Why?”   
          “The Muggles do not know about Wizards and your presence must not jeopardize that illusion,” explained Daniel.  “Interferences from Interns in the past have created major messes that required numerous Obliviators to clean up.”  Richards looked from the paper to Daniel with obvious disgust.  Daniel, mindful of his own orders to take Richards along, softened his voice making it more persuasive.  “Look,” he told Richards, “I know you don’t like this, but I have my orders and I must follow them.  There will be times,” he added, “when you will be required to do things that are personally distasteful.  That is the nature of Security.  If you are unable to fulfill that requirement, then you should seek another profession.”  Daniel waited to see how Richards would respond.   
          Richards scowled for a moment.  “Oh, very well,” he said suddenly and snatched the form from Daniel.  “If you insist!”  Without bothering to read the paper, Richards scrawled his signature using his own quill and then shoved it back in Daniel’s hand.   
          Daniel nodded solemnly. “Thank you,” he said as he carefully folded the paper and put it in his pocket.  It would be added to Richard’s potential employment profile.  Richards didn’t know it, but he had just passed a test crucial towards future employment at Wizard Security, provided he managed to actually follow Daniel’s orders.  The test was to determine if Richards had the ability to follow orders no matter what.  Slytherins were both proud and independent.  Some Slytherins flat out refused to take any order from a Non.  Those people were deemed unacceptable for employment.  If a Slytherin could swallow his pride enough to follow the order of a Non, then that person would have no difficulty following the orders of his own Slytherin superiors.  
          Daniel opened the door of the Apparation chamber and the two stepped within.  “Have you done much Apparating yet?” asked Daniel as the door shut behind them.  
          “Of course!” said Richards proudly.  
          “Good,” replied Daniel.  “But I must still do the Apparating as you are not familiar with the location.  I need your hand to do that.”  Daniel held out his hand and waited.   Richards reluctantly took the hand with a look of total disgust.  Daniel gripped the hand and immediately Apparated the two to their destination.

********************

          When they materialized, Daniel released Richards.  “Before we go out,” began Daniel pulling out the red ribbon, “I want to remind you that you signed several confidentiality pacts to become an Intern.  That which happens at this station is still Security business.  What you see and hear is to be kept strictly confidential.”  
           “Yeah, right,” said Richards dismissively, “Whatever.” Daniel pressed a point high on the wall and a small panel slid open. From the compartment behind the panel Daniel pulled out two red armbands. “What are you doing?” Richards asked as Daniel tied one armband high around Richard’s right arm and another one around his own arm covering his Lieutenant stripes.  The ribbon molded itself onto the fabric looking like it had been stitched in place.  In the center of the red armband was some black stitching creating a bold “S” that showed plainly.   
          “I am doing some of the things you are very specifically to not talk about,” replied Daniel bluntly.  He reached back into the compartment and pulled out two black regulation Security hats. The black hats had a blood red oval in the center with a black “S” imprinted on them.   
          “We’re going to look like the rest of Muggle Security,” he began explaining.  “The Muggles outside know nothing about us—not our names, our ranks, anything and that’s the way Wizard Security would like to keep it.”  He handed a hat to Richards to wear and put another on himself.  “The hats disguise the shape of our heads making it more difficult to identify us,” he continued.  “When Muggles on the street see us they think we are one of the many Royal Security Officers out on patrol intended to keep them safe.  The Royal Security Officers, Muggle Security to you, know we’re more, but they don’t know what.  To them, we are the “Red Security,” their scary mysterious employer.  
          “When you go outside,” continued Daniel, “step confidently as if you’re in total control.  Then stand to the side of the door,  guard it and-–”  
          “What does it need guarding for?” interrupted Richards.  “I thought it would only open for someone wearing a Wizard Security pin.”  
          “That’s true,” agreed Daniel, “but the Muggles don’t know that.  When you’re standing near the door glare!  Act like you’ve done this a hundred times.  I will make no introductions.  Muggles are incredibly curious.  Your unexplained presence will bug the heck out of them; it will keep them off balance.”  
          “I thought you wanted to make them more comfortable, like with that Muggle machine?”  
          “That’s why Wizards don’t use any magic around Muggles,” replied Daniel.  “But when dealing with them, Wizards must always maintain a position of authority.  A little unexplained mystery combined with someone in total control can be a powerful tool when dealing with Muggles.  Now,” continued Daniel, “when you look around, look at everyone like they’re pieces of scum.”  
          “They are!” agreed Richards.  
          “Yeah,” agreed Daniel.  “Well, here’s the kicker.  They don’t _know_ that!”  
          “What?”  
          “When you look at them they’re going to look directly back at you—” “ _as the girl with the green eyes had done with him, as she must have done to Wizard Flint; Wizard Flint expected her to act like a running Non but she had acted like a Muggle instead!  A witch who acted like a Muggle; that sounded almost like—like a **mudblood!** ”_  thought Daniel in astonishment. _That couldn’t be right!_    
          Reluctantly Daniel forced his mind to return to the job at hand.  He continued his instructions aloud to Richards, “—and you have got to control yourself and not go off your rocker shouting _Crucio_ at every Muggle in the room!”  One of the other Interns had done that, had caused a massive heart attack in a Muggle and created all sorts of clean-up problems.  Wizard Security added a Wizard Stress test to all Muggle Security Physicals after that.  “If one of them looks at you,” continued Daniel, “don’t speak; stare!  Stare at him until he looks away and not before!   If anyone tries to do more than that, I’ll handle it.  You just keep still and _do not_ speak.”  Daniel pulled out his wand.  “Now, hold out your wand,” he instructed.  
          “What?” said Richards, defensively.  
          “Your wand!” commanded Daniel impatiently.  “You can’t use it, but I don’t want you going out there unarmed.”  Reluctantly Richards drew his wand and held it out for Daniel.  “You any good at transfigurations?” asked Daniel as he pointed his wand at Richards’.   
          “Of course,” replied Richards, disdainfully.   
          “I hope so,” replied Daniel.  _“Bludgeondario!”_ said Daniel pointing his wand at Richards’.  Immediately Richards’ wand expanded and fattened turning itself into what looked like a Security nightstick.  Daniel held out his wand.  “Now, you try it with mine.”  That would reassure Richards that while the wand looked different, it still worked like a wand.  “Speak with confidence,” Daniel told Richards while he pointed his nightstick towards Daniel’s wand.  
 _“Bludgeondario!”_ shouted Richards and Daniel’s wand turned into a matching nightstick.   
          “Good one,” said Daniel approvingly.  Sometimes it took Interns several tries to get it right.  Richards gave a rather satisfied smirk.  “The spell immediately cancels in about an hour or once we return to this room,” Daniel explained further.  “You ready to go outside?” he asked hanging his “nightstick” on his belt.  
          “Yes,” replied Richards hanging his own “nightstick” on his belt.  
          “Good,” said Daniel.  Daniel returned to the compartment a third time.  He brought out a large flask and two smaller potions bottles.  He un-stoppered the flask and proceeded to fill the two smaller ones with the contents of the flask.  He handed one of the small bottles to Richards.  “Now, drink this.”  Daniel replaced the cork on the flask and put it back in the compartment.   
          “What?” said Richards while looking at the bottle questioningly.  
          “Drink it,” commanded Daniel drinking the contents of his own bottle and placing the empty container back in the compartment.  “The Marsh Mist that shoots out as the door opens is spiked with _Fearful_ ,” he explained.  “It’s not much but enough to make the Muggles in the building tense, wary, uncomfortable and rather afraid of us.  That bottle is the antidote,” Daniel continued.  “We’re outnumbered in there and the _Fearful_ gives us an edge in maintaining control without our wands.  The sense of fear Muggles always feel around us makes them very respectful and cautious.”  Daniel waited until Richards drank his antidote and then retrieved the bottle from him returning it to the compartment.  “Any questions?” he asked while pressing a different spot on the wall; the panel door slid silently shut.  
          “No,” said Richards.  
          Daniel looked Richards once over and straightened his hat.  “Now remember, step outside with me, like we're a team.  We stop far enough away from the entry to let the door close.  I keep moving; you remain in place to guard the door.  I’ll do the talking, you just watch, listen—”  
          “—and glare!” finished Richards.  “Yeah, I get the picture.”  
          “Good,” said Daniel readjusting his own lapel one last time and tucking the Muggle Security Alert envelope within his jacket.  “Then let’s go!”  He stepped forward and the door silently opened shooting out an impressive swirl of Marsh Mist.


	10. Chapter 10

          Royal Security was the idea of Death Eater Walden Macnair.  Installed as Minister to the crown, Wizard Macnair introduced and got the Royal Security bill passed after a “terrorist” explosion destroyed half of Buckingham Palace killing Prince Charles and leaving young Prince William heir to the crown.  The Office of Royal Security, referred to as Muggle Security by the Wizards, was charged with the responsibility to investigate terrorist activities.  With the assistance of Wizard Lucius Malfoy, serving office as Muggle Prime Minister, the scope and power of Royal Security was gradually increased until today it had free rein to hunt, seize and prosecute any and all persons suspected of terrorist activities.   
          Royal Security Officials appeared at the sight of every major crime conducting interviews and collecting evidence.  They could be seen frequently patrolling the streets keeping the peace and making arrests of terrorist suspects.  The public news often broadcasted the results of Royal Security arrests, usually in the form of detailed confessions to some terrorist crime.  With no need for a trial, the guilty person was carted off to an unnamed jail for an unspecified length of time.  No one picked up by Royal Security ever went to court or got released but that was a fact omitted by the public news.  
          Actually, the Muggles were witnessing Wizard Security in action while seizing Mudblood families and fugitive Wizards.  Wizard Security officials wore uniforms identical to those of Royal Security.  No outsider could tell the difference.  The publicized confessions were totally false; the written ones were imaginative stories with a realistic signature affixed to them.  The “voluntary” verbal confessions aired over radio and television were achieved through either modified memories or the _Imperius Curse_.  But the Muggles didn’t know that either. The news reports constantly reminded the public of the impressive “solve” rate of the Royal Security and how fortunate the people were that Royal Security had been there to catch the criminals.  The Muggles wanted to believe Royal Security was protecting them and that they were safer because of it.  The Muggles were happy to not ask too many questions when presented with easy explanations.  
          The main work of the Royal Security was publicity. It worked to promote the Royal Security image.  Royal Security officials sent out the press releases to the Muggle news. In addition, Royal Security officers kept track of any criticism of Royal Security or the current regime.  They were in charge of silencing that criticism. The method of silencing was left to the imagination of the Royal Security Officers.  They could do just about anything as long as they didn’t generate too much negative publicity or actually kill someone.  If Royal Security efforts did not stop the negative criticism, the case was turned over to the Wizard Security to “investigate.”  That usually meant a visit by the New Death Eaters.  The visit generally resulted in a new “terrorist” arrest or a “terrorist” murder victim case to be “solved” at a later date.  
          Royal Security worked closely with Wizard Security.  It sent out Wizard Security Alerts and other Wizard notices making sure they got printed and/or aired promptly in Muggle media.  It followed up on any Muggle reports concerning Wizard Security Alerts keeping the wizards informed at all times.  Royal Security Officials coordinated Muggle search efforts for “terrorist” suspects.  The names of those who hindered a “Terrorist Search” effort were added to an “unfavorable criticism list” for future investigation.  Royal Security officials also investigated Muggle tips from the Terrorist Tip line.  They turned over all interviews and reports to their superiors, (the New Death Eaters) for interpretation.  Royal Security officials identified “terrorist-related” Persons of Interest apprehending them when possible.  Any person they picked up remained in a special detention cell in the Royal Security office until a member of Wizard Security arrived to collect the person for “interrogation.”  
          Royal Security Officials were basically a bunch of thugs hand picked by Wizard Thorfinn Rowle, head of Royal Security.  There was also a sprinkling of psychopaths, killers and minor criminals within their ranks.  Daniel suspected they all had been selected for their propensity to frighten others and keep secrets rather than intellectual ability.  They all expected one day to be admitted into the higher ranks of Royal Security, (Wizard Security,) to become one of those privileged to work behind the red Security doors and make major arrests.  That would never happen, of course, as they were Muggles but no one told them that.  In the meantime, the Royal Security Officers worked hard at their job cheerfully intimidating and terrorizing those foolish enough to criticize Royal Security or the current government.   
          When Daniel made deliveries to Royal Security, he had to act like a Death Eater; it was what the Royal Security Employees expected.  It took a bigger thug to keep the Royal Security officials in line.  To do less would undermine Wizard authority of Royal Security. Daniel knew only one Death Eater well enough to imitate.

*********************

          The Marsh Mist swirled around their bodies as Daniel and Richards stepped into the Royal Security Office.  Both of them stopped two steps beyond the door so it could close.  The door had opened silently at the rear of a rectangular room.  All the desks faced forward except one—that of the Royal Station Commander, Clust Sloane.  He, alone, saw Daniel and Richards enter.    
          Commander Sloane was a big muscular man with short (regulation cut) brown hair.  He stood up hastily at their arrival.   “Stand for inspection,” the Commander announced sharply.  Immediately a scraping sound occurred indicating several chairs had been moved hastily back.   
          Daniel surveyed the room with narrowed eyes.  Four Royal Security Officers stood facing forward while hurriedly straightening their uniforms. Even from their backs Daniel recognized them all.  He had visited this office frequently and had taken the time to read the personnel files and background checks of everyone who worked here.  Two desks were empty.   
          Daniel fixed his eyes on Commander Sloane.  He had been Commander for almost four years having been promoted to the position when the previous Commander lost control and killed several Muggle suspects with no “terrorist” connections.  Killing was a privilege reserved for the Death Eaters.  Sloane was the only person in the office married and with a family.  His wife had filed numerous complaints with the local police against Sloane for assault and battery but that was all before Sloane joined Royal Security.  Given the nature of his work on the job, Sloane hadn’t felt the need to hit his wife while at home.  Their marriage was flourishing now.  Sloane was a reasonably competent person able to complete the work required of him.  “Status report,” asked Daniel softly, his upper lip curling slightly.    
          Commander Sloane shifted uncomfortably when Daniel spoke.  Daniel knew why but he would get to that later.  “Ah, Neilson and Kilian are off investigating an explosion this morning,” he began.  As far as Daniel knew, the explosion in question was not a Wizard thing but due to Muggle causes; that was nothing they needed to know—perhaps some Wizard in Security might later decide to attribute the explosion to a known “terrorist”—or a fugitive Wizard.  “Corberic and Drudwin are reviewing the news for signs of terrorist collaborators,” continued the Commander, “Lysander is drafting the weekly publicity report, and Henwas is taking information on Royal Tip calls.”  Commander Sloane stopped speaking and waited for Daniel to respond.  Daniel continued to stare menacingly at Commander Sloane without speaking.  Unnerved, Commander Sloane fidgeted, “Uh, that’s all, uh sir,” he added uncertainly knowing he had missed something but not what.  
          “And yourself?” whispered Daniel with a sneer his upper lip curled with disapproval.  
          “Uh, yeah, uh, I’m looking up the addresses of terrorist collaborators to visit… uh, sir,” said Commander Sloane.  
          “That is not your … responsibility,” said Daniel softly, still staring at him.  
          “Uh, no, sir, but see everyone else was busy and I uh, wanted to interrogate some of them today…” Commander Sloane’s voice trailed off when he got no reaction from Daniel.  
          Daniel glided silently forward passing the officers at their desks stopping in front of Commander Sloane’s desk.  “I received a report from your office this morning,” he said quietly while looking directly at Commander Sloane.  There was absolute silence in the office and he didn’t have to speak very loudly to be heard.  
          Daniel stared menacingly at Commander Sloane not finishing his sentence forcing Commander Sloane to respond, “Oh?”  Sweat was pouring down Commander Sloane’s face and he licked his lips nervously.   
          “The numbers don’t seem correct,” added Daniel with a sneer on his lips.   
          “What?”  
          “You look in good health,” observed Daniel quietly seeming to change the subject.  “Fit and trim.”  
          “Uh, thank you, sir,”  
          “I cannot imagine,” he added silkily, “why your cash receipts from the cafe last Wednesday, Thursday and Friday would seem to indicate you purchased enough food for _two_ full meals each day…” Commander Sloane reddened.  “Did you manage to eat all that by yourself or did you, by chance, treat a ... companion ... to lunch?”  
          “No, of course not! I was just, ah, hungry!” denied Commander Sloane sweating profusely giving lie to his own words.  “It was a mistake,” Commander Sloane added lamely wilting under Daniel’s intense stare.   
          “Such mistakes are … unacceptable,” said Daniel icily.  “I did not see any requests for vehicle repairs,” he swiftly added changing the topic.  
          “What?”  
         “You purchased a full tank worth of petrol in Purley when interviewing witnesses in Addiscombe despite the fact you checked out a vehicle already indicating a full tank.  Purley is not even in the same direction as Addiscombe,” sneered Daniel.  “Surely the vehicle was not functioning properly for you to end up there on the way to Addiscombe.”  
          “I, uh, don’t know what you mean…”  
           “You should!” snapped Daniel sharply making Commander Sloane nearly jump in place.  “Because the document has your signature on it!”  The nice thing about _Fearful_ was that it made people with a guilty conscience look even guiltier…  Commander Sloane was looking very guilty now; the inconsistency with numbers had been deliberate—a small attempt to fix the books to see if it would go unnoticed, a prelude for larger fixes in the future.  
          “That must be some mistake,” admitted Commander Sloane his hands visibly shaking.   
          “Indeed?” said Daniel softly.  “A second _mistake?_ ” he sneered in disbelief.  “Very sloppy.  Are there others?” he asked silkily.  There were, but Daniel didn’t force the Commander to answer.  Instead Daniel added, “Perhaps you would like to resubmit your report with corrections…”  
          “Uh, yes,” said Commander Sloane nearly wilting with relief.  “Yes I would, sir.  Thank you, sir.”  
          “In the slot by the end of the day!” snapped Daniel nodding his head towards the mail slot in the Apparating door.  “I will read it very ... closely," Daniel told him.  "See that you are more careful with your … math … in the future,” he instructed.   
          Commander Sloane nodded, “Yes sir,” he agreed.  Letting Commander Sloane call it a "mistake" enabled him to save face in front of his employees but he knew what Daniel meant.  Attempts to fix reports for personal purposes would not go unnoticed.  Hopefully, the rest of the office personnel listening in got the message too.  
           Daniel wheeled around and surveyed the rest of the Royal Security officers.  The four stood at attention facing straight ahead trying hard to not stare at him.  Daniel glided away from Commander Sloane’s desk.  He moved slowly down the aisle towards the back pausing at the first desk to observe Corberic sweat and squirm uncomfortably before him.  That was the normal reaction when someone was under the effect of _Fearful_.  
          Without a word, Daniel stepped to the next desk in the row and paused to glare at Lysander.  Lysander bore Daniel’s scrutiny confidently staring back with his icy blue eyes challenging Daniel.  Ulfred Lysander was short and slender with blond, almost white, hair.  He was impeccably groomed and looked the perfect picture of innocence, the average guy on the street—yet Daniel knew Lysander had coolly stabbed three people, calmly cleaned up afterwards and walked away without a second thought.  The background checks were very thorough.  In addition, potential employees received an intense interrogation while under the influence of veresitum, not that they remembered it, of course.  Lysander had never been caught or convicted for the murders.  His crime was of no importance to Royal Security.  It was only concerned with job performance and current behavior, not past misdeeds.  
           Daniel moved to the right of Lysander lingering at a third desk used by Duane Henwas.  Henwas was not Daniel’s actual target, but standing in front of his desk gave Daniel an excellent view of the person he wanted to watch—Lysander.  Lysander had been too calm, too confident.   
          Daniel looked Henwas over, all the while watching Lysander from the corner of his eye.  Henwas was tall and solidly built.  He had cropped black hair and mean black eyes.  He liked his job.  He had been recruited out of the county gaol—having accidentally killed a person during a bar fight.  Henwas had been pleased to learn his criminal past had not disqualified him from employment at Royal Security.   
          “Any useful tips, Officer Henwas?” Daniel asked.  Lysander had shifted his position slightly so he was still facing Daniel.  There was an odd gleam to the security pin in his lapel.  It hadn’t gleamed like that during his last visit.  
          Henwas looked down at his desk and picked up his notes.  There was no similar gleam to his security pin.  “Uh, yes,” he replied looking at his notes.  “It seems there’s a credible sighting of fugitive number 653.”   
           “Then you should investigate … further,” replied Daniel softly.  Daniel knew fugitive number 653 was Runner Glynn Davies.  Royal Security Officials never referred to anyone by name if possible.  They thought Fugitive number 653 had “hacked” a state computer, stolen information on Royal Security Official personnel and given it to “terrorists.”  
           Daniel had no doubt Glynn would easily evade the Royal Security investigators.  He had been on the run for almost a year now and could clearly take care of himself.  His parents reported Glynn’s absence within 24 hours of Running, indicating to Daniel that it was probably a planned run.  The parents might have even assisted making sure Glynn was safely out of sight before notifying Security.  Their prompt notification of Security enabled the parents to avoid any fines or Non Head Counts.  When Glynn was ready to return, he would probably turn himself in at a Security Station minimizing arrest charges.   
          If Daniel actually saw Glynn, or was assigned Glynn’s case, he would try to bring him in, of course, but in the meantime, Daniel wished Glynn well; memories of a successful “Run” could sustain one a long time when dealing with the drudgery of everyday Non life afterwards. 

*********************

          Memories of Daniel’s own Run, though not nearly as long or successful, had kept Daniel going through many a cold depressing day at work.  It had also inspired him to work in Security.  Daniel had made his break while still attending Hogwarts.  The train had just begun its run when upper classman Slytherin Malcolm Baddock hunted Daniel out and promised Daniel that they would be “spending a lot of time” together after class and that he had “plans” for Daniel…  In a panic, Daniel had jumped the Hogwarts Express intending to go anywhere but school.  
          Unfortunately, Daniel broke his wrist during the fall.  Afraid of pursuit, Daniel fled quickly away from the rails and through the forest heedless of the branches and brambles he encountered along the way.  He plunged recklessly into one clump of bushes, and came out on the other side at the edge of a steep ravine.  Exhausted and unbalanced, Daniel fell down the ravine loosing both his wand and consciousness along the way.  When he awoke, Daniel found himself half in/half out a cold stream of water with more cuts, scrapes and bruises than he could ever imagine.  The area was so remote that Daniel stumbled around in pain for several days before being found by some Muggles.  Believing Daniel to be a terrorist murderer, the Muggles immediately notified Royal Security.  Daniel ran in fear at the sight of the Royal Security uniform and fought back rather than be captured and returned to Hogwarts.   
          His efforts were unsuccessful.  Weakened from the cold, pain and lack of food, Daniel was no match for the Royal Security Officials.  They easily beat him into submission breaking several ribs and a jaw in the process.  Then they liberally used their boots stomping on Daniel's hands (breaking four fingers and numerous hand bones) and kicking Daniel numerous times until he was unconscious.  Finally the Royal Security Officials tired of their sport and put a battered, broken and bloodied Daniel in their Containment Cell to await "interrogation."  
          Wizard Security officials collected Daniel soon after and transported him to Security Headquarters.  When Daniel “refused” to answer questions (he had been barely conscious at the time,) the Wizards tossed him into their Holding Cell to await trial.  They made no effort to contact anyone on Daniel’s behalf preferring to let Daniel suffer in isolation with a dementor for company.  
          In the end, Daniel had gotten out only because Headmaster Snape had come to the station to seek and identify his missing student.  The Headmaster’s patronus chased away the dementor circling Daniel’s cell enabling Daniel to think clearly again without overwhelming despair.  Then Headmaster Snape looked Daniel over carefully and glared at the Security Witch.  “Release him, Edgecombe!” the Headmaster ordered.  
          “No!” she responded imperiously.  “By order of Wizard Macnair!  All fugitive Wizards must go to trial for their crimes!”  
          “He’s not an adult wizard yet and his only “crime” is truancy!” insisted the Headmaster.  “That is a Hogwarts affair!  Your imprisonment is keeping him from school!  Release him!” he ordered again.  
          “I can’t,” insisted Witch Edgecombe. “He resisted arrest and refused to answer questions!  Those crimes have nothing to do with truancy!”  
          “I’ve read the report!” snapped Headmaster Snape.  “He resisted _Muggles!_   Since when is it a crime for a _wizard_ to do that?  And he is in no condition to answer questions!  Even you should have realized that!  However, the boy is clearly school aged and obviously truant.  He needs only to be sent back to school where he belongs!”  
          “He has yet to be identified!” protested Witch Edgecombe obstinately.   
          _“I’m_ identifying him!” said Headmaster Snape. Then he added in a voice barely above a whisper.  “Do you accuse me of being … inaccurate?”  
          “I, uh, no!” stammered Witch Edgecombe.  “But I still can’t…”  
          Headmaster Snape raised his wand and deliberately pointed it at Witch Edgecombe. “I tire of your excuses,” he said coldly.  “Release the boy!”  
          Witch Edgecombe grew pale, “How dare you threaten me!” she said pulling out her own wand. Her voice trembled in anger.  “The rules state—”  
          “I _dare_ because I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts!” Headmaster Snape interrupted softly, his black eyes glittered dangerously.  “The rules do not apply to me!  You would be wise to remember that!  Put your wand away!” he commanded.  “You may wear a Security uniform but you are the same sniveling brat I once taught and should have _never_ been re-sorted into Slytherin polluting our numbers!  Though I doubt the Nons would ever accept you either,” he added as his upper lip curled in disgust.  Daniel stared at the Headmaster in surprise.  It was the nearest to a compliment he had ever heard anyone say about Nons.   
          “If you insist,” continued Headmaster Snape smoothly, “we can take this up directly with Wizard Macnair at which time I shall inform him how you failed to report the boy’s presence to me for identification as soon as he was brought in compounding his truancy.”  
          “But—”  
          “In addition, I shall inform him how it shall take additional days in the infirmary before the boy will recover enough to attend class let alone serve detention for his truancy.”  
          “He’s just a Non!” protested Witch Edgecombe her voice tinged with disgust.  
          “He is still a pure-blood Wizard, Edgecombe, and should be treated as such,” countered Headmaster Snape coldly.  “His condition is disgraceful!  Now,” continued Headmaster Snape softly with a sneer, “will you turn the boy over to me or shall we visit Wizard Macnair?  I believe he is in conference with the Dark Lord right now.  No doubt he would like to be disturbed on such an _important_ issue as this.”  
          Witch Edgecombe paled at the suggestion.  She moved forward reluctantly and opened the cell door.  Daniel struggled to stand but didn’t get very far.  “Well,” said Headmaster Snape impatiently.  “Remove him!”   
          “Me?” protested Witch Edgecombe.  Opening the door was one thing, helping Daniel was quite another.  
          “I don’t see anyone else,” replied Headmaster Snape, icily, his black eyes glittering slits.   “I believe you are in charge of your prisoners until they leave the station.  Perhaps you should keep them in better condition so you don’t have to personally carry them away…”    
          Witch Edgecombe reluctantly pocketed her wand, and slowly stepped inside the cell.  She placed her hand under Daniel’s armpit and lifted.  Then she not-to-gently hauled an unresisting Daniel out of the cell while Headmaster Snape stood by watching.  Then Headmaster Snape pocketed his own wand, deliberately turned his back on Witch Edgecombe and swept out the room, his black robes billowing behind.   
          Daniel saw a look of hatred and determination flash across Witch Edgecombe’s face as if considering a sneak wand attack, but it vanished quickly and an attack never occurred.  Instead, Witch Edgecombe dragged Daniel along adding cuts and scrapes to Daniel’s already well bruised body while she followed Headmaster Snape to the Apparating chamber.    
          “What do I say in my report?” she asked when they reached the chamber.  
          “That,” said Headmaster Snape imperiously in a very soft voice, “is your problem.”  He opened the door and stepped aside to permit Witch Edgecombe to drag Daniel within.  Headmaster Snape followed behind.  The Witch dumped Daniel unceremoniously inside the chamber and left, leaving Daniel alone with the Headmaster.   
          When the door closed Headmaster Snape wound his slender fingers in Daniel’s curly hair pulling Daniel’s head up and the two Apparated to the train station in Hogsmeade.  The Headmaster released his grip on Daniel’s hair and Daniel slumped down onto the rough platform planks driving splinters in his hands and knees.  
          A horseless carriage arrived to take the two to Hogwarts.  Headmaster Snape watched without comment while Daniel slowly and painfully dragged himself into the carriage.  Then the Headmaster got in and sat down besides Daniel.  The carriage took off rolling down the road.  It jolted Daniel agonizingly with every bump in the road.  
          “I expect you realize by now that there is no place to run,” commented Headmaster Snape dryly after a particularly pronounced jolt knocked Daniel to one side causing him to moan in pain.  The Headmaster pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to Daniel.  It was a small chunk of chocolate. “It might even occur to you that there are places _worse_ than Hogwarts,” the Headmaster added unsympathetically while Daniel managed to force the chocolate between his swollen lips.  The chocolate was unsweetened and very bitter but it did make Daniel feel a bit better.  
          “You refused to answer their questions,” the Headmaster continued.  “That was very … foolish.”  Daniel closed his eyes and dropped his head in too much pain to respond.  Fortunately, the Headmaster didn’t seem to expect any.  “It occurs to me,” the Headmaster said speculatively, “that you might have been more cooperative had you been questioned by a … Non.  You might have even been released sooner and in better condition.”  They rode on in silence.  The carriage continued to jerk about and Daniel stifled a moan of pain with every bump.  After a while, they reached the walls of Hogwarts.  The gates swung silently open letting the carriage through.  Just before the carriage stopped at the entrance Headmaster Snape added softly, “Pity there aren’t any Nons working in Security...”   
          Then the Headmaster got out of the carriage.  He instructed two nearby Nons to take Daniel up to the infirmary.  When Daniel recovered, he was assigned three weeks of detention. Two days of detention for every day of school missed.  Malcolm Baddock was assigned to supervise Daniel’s detention.   
          The first week was every bit as torturous as Malcolm had earlier so gleefully promised but by the second week, Malcolm tired of tormenting Daniel.  He tried to dump the detention responsibility on a classmate.  Headmaster Snape found out and insisted Malcolm continue conducting detention.  When Malcolm protested, the Headmaster replied coldly, “Perhaps in the future, Mr. Baddock, you will reconsider the practice of pushing people so hard they break.  It can lead to … unwanted consequences…”  
          And Daniel suddenly realized that his Detention was also Malcolm’s punishment for forcing Daniel to run in the first place, for making Daniel miss school.  Headmaster Snape had never once asked Daniel why he had run; he must have known already, known and not approved.  As painful as it was for Daniel, the Detention was also a three-week commitment of Malcolm’s time—five hours every day after dinner in which Malcolm had to supervise Daniel somehow, when Malcolm could neither socialize with friends nor complete his own assignments… Malcolm left Daniel alone after that.  
          As soon as Daniel finished Hogwarts, Nons didn’t “graduate,” Daniel remembered the Headmaster’s words and those of his father.  Then he put in an application to Security… 

*********************

          “Officer Corberic!” snapped Daniel suddenly turning his attention to the other side of Lysander.  “What is Regulation 23, Sentence 1 of the Royal Security Manual?”   Myrna Corberic jumped at the command and stood even straighter, if possible.  She was a short, wiry person with cold hazel eyes and dirty blonde hair.  Corberic had just joined Royal Security and was both eager and very ambitious.   
 _“No person shall give out any information concerning the identities of persons employed by Royal Security,_ Sir!” she shouted quickly, proud she knew the answer.  Daniel gave a slight nod of approval and a smirk of satisfaction.  He knew Corberic would get that answer right.  She was very smart.  Besides having an above average intelligence, test results showed that Corberic had memorized the Security regulations using them word-for-word in her answers.  If she ever tried to defraud Royal Security it would be very difficult to detect.  Corberic also liked to torture and kill small animals.  That was of no consequence to her Wizard employers as long as she was discrete and did it after hours.  However, Daniel would think twice before he ever spent time with her alone, even armed with his wand.  
          “And the reason for this regulation, Officer Drudwin?” Daniel asked sharply.  Emrys Drudwin gave a start from his desk behind Officer Corberic.  He was averaged sized but very muscular.  
          “To protect the Royal Security Officials from retaliation by Terrorists, sir!” Drudwin answered promptly.  It did more, of course.  It kept the Muggle public from knowing who worked for Royal Security.  They might not feel so secure once they read the background and criminal records of the Royal Security employees.  The regulation also kept the Muggles from learning about the very secret Security Officials referred to by Royal Security employees as the “Reds,” those nameless people who came out from behind the red Security Doors and roamed the streets under the guise of Royal Security.  
          Watching carefully, Daniel saw a moment of uncertainty flash across Lysander’s face.  Snap quizzes concerning regulations was not unusual, but the subject of these questions seemed disconcerting.  
          “Remove your security pin and place it on your desk, Officer Drudwin,” ordered Daniel quietly.  His lip curled in a sneer.  
          “Sir?” questioned Drudwin.  His voice sounded hurt, uncertain and upset.  He liked his job and enjoyed intimidating people.  The occasional perks were good too.  Daniel knew Drudwin was in the habit of taking cash and money from the houses of the people he “interviewed.”  They weren’t in a position to complain.  Unlike Sloane, who had tried to steal from Royal Security, theft from a “terrorist suspect” was perfectly admissible as long as it was kept quiet.  
          “Remove it, now!” demanded Daniel sharply.  Drudwin jumped and his trembling hands automatically moved to obey.  Lysander relaxed visibly; he was again calm and confident as he listened to Daniel’s words. The reason for Daniel’s visit was clear; Drudwin was in trouble.  Removal of a security pin was the first part in the dismissal ritual.   Drudwin pulled the pin from his lapel and placed it on his desk.  He looked uncertainly, fearfully up at Daniel.  But Daniel was looking at Henwas.   
          “Remove your Security pin, Officer Henwas,” he ordered softly.  Henwas reluctantly put his hands to his lapel to remove his pin.  “Officer Lysander,” continued Daniel his lips curled in a sneer, “Remove your pin and place it on the desk.”  Panic crossed the face of Officer Lysander.  “Remove your pin, as well, Officer Corberic,” added Daniel softly.  Officer Corberic complied swiftly placing her pin on the desk in front of her.  “And you, Commander Sloane,” hissed Daniel turning his head to face him.  “Remove the pin!” he demanded, his eyes narrowed as he watched Sloane comply.  There was silence again in the room as everyone wondered what Daniel would do next…  Daniel returned his attention to Lysander.  “Well,” he whispered expectantly and all eyes turned to the one person who had not removed his pin.  “Is there something wrong?”  
          “My, pin,” he said taking a step backwards, “it’s stuck!”  The earlier cool confidence had been replaced by worry and concern.  “I, ah, can’t get it off!”   
          “Perhaps your co-workers could help,” suggested Daniel silkily watching Lysander steadily with narrowed eyes.  
          “No, uh, I don’t need help,” said Lysander taking another step back looking warily around at the other people in the office.  They were staring back at him with growing suspicion.  Clearly something was wrong and Lysander was looking guiltier by the second.  “I can do it myself,” he added putting his hands up to the lapel taking another step backwards.  “I uh, just didn’t want to rip my unifo—” Lysander suddenly made a dash leaping Officer Neilson’s unattended desk heading towards the nearest exit:  the Red Door and Richards!  Total pandemonium ensued as the other officers broke ranks and charged after him.  
          There was logic behind Lysander’s action; Richards was clearly the youngest person in the room, an unknown and probably, the most vulnerable.  Perhaps Lysander thought he could take Richards hostage and escape out the Red Door; Lysander didn’t know there was no escape within the red room.   
          Lysander didn’t have much of a lead.  Hopefully, the other officers would catch him quickly.  Daniel shifted his position so he could get at his “nightstick” easily but otherwise stood still appearing calm and detached during the commotion.  Like Richards, Daniel wasn’t allowed to use his wand here, but better him than Richards.  If necessary, Daniel would create some diversion while everyone was looking at Lysander.  It would be worse if Daniel permitted Richards to get captured or harmed.  Daniel watched Richards closely as well.  If the charge caused Richards to panic and use his wand the situation could become a major clean-up mess.  Richards had paled considerably when Lysander first headed his way.  His eyes remained riveted on Lysander and his hand gripped his “nightstick” tightly but he didn’t move.  
          Lysander was pulled down less than a meter away from Richards.  The three other officers made short work of Lysander.  Henwas and Drudwin flipped Lysander onto his back and held him down while Corberic planted a knee in his chest and tore the pin from the lapel.  She held the pin up high for all to see while bringing it triumphantly back to Daniel.  Daniel held out his gloved hand and she placed it in the palm.  It was not a Security Pin.  It looked to be a tiny recording camera of some sort.   
          “Search him,” Daniel ordered softly knowing there would be more to make the device operate.  Henwas continued to hold the struggling Lysander down while Drudwin moved expertly to search him.  Drudwin knew every possible hiding place.  He had been a prison guard before being dismissed for excessive violence.  In a few minutes Drudwin stood up.  “Look at this!” he said holding a shoe up and pointed to the side.   
          He gave the shoe to Corberic who placed it on the desk in front of Daniel.  Daniel nodded in approval.  He placed the tiny camera in his pocket and picked up the shoe examining it carefully.  It was a regulation style shoe but the sole had been cleverly slit to add a third layer—one that stuck out slightly on the inside.  With his gloved hand Daniel depressed the inner side of the sole and it stayed in place; clearly it was a switch of some sort.  Daniel carefully stowed the shoe out of sight within his jacket.  Then he looked up at Drudwin and Henwas.  
          “Bring him here,” Daniel hissed softly.  Drudwin helped Henwas lift Lysander and the two dragged him, still struggling, over to Daniel.  Then Drudwin expertly placed Lysander in a chokehold around his neck while holding him up to face Daniel.  Lysander was breathing heavily from his exertions and no longer looked cool and confident.  His jacket was torn and covered with dirt.  His pale blond hair stuck out wildly and his ice blue eyes flickered back and forth like those of a trapped animal... “How long,” Daniel asked quietly, “have you been betraying your comrades?”  
          “What?” asked Lysander, momentarily confused.  He looked at the grim faces of his co-workers.  “I didn’t betray—”  Then understanding flashed across his face.  “No!” he protested loudly.  “I never used it on them!  I wouldn’t!”  He looked around again and saw only cold unbelieving faces.  “I only turned it on today, …” he said earnestly.  “I swear!”  Daniel fixed his eyes on Lysander and remained silent, a sneer curling on his lip.  “It was _you_ they wanted, not them, honest!” Lysander added desperately looking truly fearful now, not sure which was worse—his co-workers, or Daniel.  
          Daniel nodded a fraction, satisfied with the answer.  Lysander was probably telling the truth.  In his current state, it would be very difficult for him to lie convincingly.  The bottom of the Red Door always leaked a small bit of _Fearful_ to keep people away.  Lysander had gotten a second dose when he fell so near Richards.  Unfortunately, his co-workers had gotten a second dose of _Fearful_ while bringing Lysander down.  They would not be so easy to convince.  They were worried what might happen to them should the public get a hold of their past criminal records…  
          “Who?” demanded Daniel in a whisper changing the subject.  
          “I don’t know,” replied Lysander quickly. “It was just a voice on the phone, a packet with directions and a lot of money…”  The _Fearful_ had taken total control of him; he was babbling now, too terrified to think clearly and hoping rapid cooperation would help convince Daniel of his honesty.   
           It worked.  Lysander was describing exactly how the Muggle underground operated.  It was just a small-disorganized section of the Muggle population who believed Royal Security did more damage than good and actually tried to do something about it.  Usually its members tried to collect information about the Royal Security for future use either as negative publicity or in Parliament.  Being highly illegal, their efforts were cloaked in secrecy—anything less would have gotten them killed.  Daniel believed Lysander knew nothing further.  But that was not the end of the matter.  Lysander had plainly broken Royal Security regulations.  Daniel turned slightly towards Commander Sloane.  “Perhaps you would like to handle this matter and investigate … further?” Daniel suggested softly.   
           “I would indeed!” growled Commander Sloane.  Like Daniel, he had not moved from his place during Lysander’s break for freedom.  He now came forward happy to take charge.  Having suffered his own humiliation at the hands of Daniel, he no doubt would make an example of Lysander to offset it.  Commander Sloane looked grimly at Lysander’s now panicked face.  “I think we need to confirm he’s not carrying anything else,” he began.   
           “Yes,” agreed Daniel with a sneer.  “A full body strip search might be in order...”   
          “I’d like to volunteer, sir!” spoke up Corberic quickly.  Her cold hazel eyes sparkled with excitement and there was a malicious smile on her face.  
          Lysander’s body jerked violently.  “No!” he shouted in protest.  His arms flailed about desperately in a renewed effort to break the hold on his neck.  He obviously knew what she did in her spare time…  
          “Very well,” agreed Sloane to Corberic ignoring Lysander’s struggles certain Lysander wouldn’t break free.  “You do the search while Drudwin and Henwas will conduct the interrogation.  I trust I may add the results of the interrogation on my revised report?” he asked turning to Daniel.  
          “Of course,” agreed Daniel smoothly.  “I would expect nothing less.”  He curled his lip into a sneer and his eyes narrowed while he watched Lysander’s frantic efforts to escape.  Drudwin took a step backwards jerking Lysander roughly off his feet, keeping him off balance and under control.  “Just make sure you adhere to regulation…” Daniel murmured softly.  
          “You can count on it!” said Sloane grimly.  The regulations concerning interrogations were pretty loose—Royal Security Officers just couldn’t kill, maim, leave lasting scars, or inflict injuries from which a suspect (in this case, Lysander) would not recover…  
          “You can’t do that to me!” protested Lysander renewing his struggles.  Drudwin jerked Lysander off his feet again and tightened his hold causing Lysander to gasp for air.  
          “Before you begin,” said Daniel casually while ignoring Lysander, “I have a Priority Security Alert to get out.”  He drew out the envelope containing information on the green-eyed girl and handed it to Commander Sloane.  “Make sure this gets done first.”  
           “Yes sir,” said Commander Sloane crisply.  “Henwas!” he commanded.  “Take care of this immediately!  It will take a while for Corberic to finish her body search anyway…”  
           “Yes, sir,” came Henwas' prompt reply.  He took the envelope from Commander Sloane and sat down at his desk.  Lysander erupted into struggle again.  But Drudwin expertly threw him to the floor with a loud crash.  Before Lysander could recover, Drudwin planted a knee in Lysander’s back to prevent him from moving and twisted Lysander’s arm painfully up and around.  Daniel heard a loud “crack” as a bone in the arm snapped.  Lysander screamed in pain.  Ignoring the noise and its cause, Daniel moved back the way he had come and headed towards the Red Door.  His business at the Royal Security Station had concluded.  
          “Stop!” shouted Lysander between gasps of pain.  Daniel paused and looked back at him without emotion.  Lysander looked up hopefully at him. “What about me?”  
          “You broke the rules, Officer Lysander,” Daniel sneered coldly.  “Did you think you could get away with that here?”   
          Lysander’s hopeful expression changed to one of fear and desperation.  “But you can’t just leave me with them,” he pleaded, “You have no idea what they’re like, what they’re going to do to me…”  
          Daniel turned to face Lysander.  “Actually, I do,” he replied unsympathetically.  “I know exactly what they’re like and what they’re going to do...”  Daniel glided forward until he was standing over Lysander.  Then he bent down leaned over and whispered in Lysander’s ear so softly no one else could hear.  “I also know what _you_ are like, and what _you_ did one cold November night six years ago…”  Blood drained from Lysander’s face.  He hadn’t realized anyone knew that… Daniel straightened.   “Believe me,” he added coldly, his voice still soft but loud enough for everyone to hear. “What lies behind the Red Door is … infinitely … worse!”   
          With that Daniel wheeled around and moved swiftly back to the Red Door.  It swung open as he neared and Daniel entered without hesitating.  Richards followed behind and the door closed silently behind them.


	11. Chapter 11

          “Good job,” said Daniel to Richards when the door clicked shut.  Daniel stepped to the back of the small room and touched the wall. A different panel slid open.  
          “Man-o-man!” said Richards excitedly.  “Did you see that?  I thought he was going to reach me for sure!  How did you know they would catch him in time?”  
          “Royal Security Officers are very good at catching people who run,” replied Daniel as he removed a black security bag from within the opening and closed the panel.  “And you held your ground like a seasoned veteran,” Daniel added approvingly.  He took the shoe from within his jacket and placed it in the security bag.   
          “I almost didn’t,” confessed Richards.  “He looked pretty scary coming at me but then I saw you standing there unconcerned watching me and I couldn’t do less!  You’re only a Non, after all!”  
          “Mmmm,” said Daniel noncommittally as he removed the camera from his pocket and placed it in the security bag too. _“Thank goodness for youthful pride,”_ he thought as he sealed the security bag.  Pulling out a quill, Daniel carefully labeled the contents of the bag, the date and the location of where the items were obtained.  Aloud, he added, “Wizard Security has a reputation for fearlessness.  You just added to their legend.”  Daniel tucked the bag under his arm and then touched the wall in a different location causing a different panel to slide open.  
          “I did?” asked Richards as Daniel removed his hat and placed it in the opened compartment.  “Yes, I did, didn’t I!”  Richards confirmed straightening with pride.  Richards removed his hat and handed it to Daniel to put inside.  “How did you know he was up to something anyway?” asked Richards eagerly.  
          “Body language,” replied Daniel briefly as he removed the red armbands. “It can be very revealing…” Daniel added as he placed the red bands in the compartment.  He removed his hat and, after collecting Richard’s hat, placed them both in the compartment as well. Then he closed the panel.  
          “And the way you got him to run!” laughed Richards.  “It was like watching the Headmaster put the Nons through their paces at school…” Richards’ eyes suddenly narrowed.  “It was _exactly_ like that,” he mused.  “Especially when your lip curled up…”  Daniel removed his wand from the belt and returned it to his pocket while Richards appraised him with a calculating eye.  “Does the Headmaster know what you’re doing?” Richards asked bluntly.  “Just wait until I tell them back at school what you do!” he added gleefully while returning his own wand back to its proper place.  
          Daniel took a deep breath.  “I must remind you,” he began, “that you have signed numerous confidentially agreements and that everything you saw and heard in the Royal Security Station must not be related outside Security premises.  That means _everything,_ ” Daniel emphasized.  
          “Yeah, right,” said Richards dismissively with a nasty gleam in his eye.  
          It was clear that a confidentially clause would not deter him so Daniel added quietly, “You should know by now, that nothing can be kept from Headmaster Snape.”  Richards started—he probably thought he had stumbled on a deep secret useful for blackmail purposes…  Daniel continued while ignoring Richards’ reaction.  “The Headmaster has also ordered me to provide him with the names of every person that accompanies me to a Royal Security Station.  If word of what I do in the performance of my duties ever leaks out, he will know exactly _who_ did the talking…”  That wiped the smirk off Richards’ face.  Richards still attended Hogwarts and would be under the direct control of the Headmaster in the fall.  “Shall we return to the station?” asked Daniel calmly while holding out his hand.  Richards glowered but said nothing as he grabbed Daniel’s hand.  Daniel Apparated the two back to the station. 

*********************

          Daniel had worked in Security for about three years when he was first ordered to take an Intern with him to a Royal Security Station.  Unlike Richards, that Intern hadn’t said a word about what he had seen during the visit.  But the very next day Daniel received a summons to see Headmaster Snape at Hogwarts, _immediately!_  
          Slytherin Security Colonel Vincent Crabbe had laughed unkindly when handing Daniel the summons and asked Daniel what he had done.  Daniel pleaded ignorance—the kind attributed to all Nons—claiming he was unable to fathom the greater workings of a Slytherin mind, especially one as complex as Headmaster Snape but there had been no doubt in Daniel’s mind what the topic of the meeting would be.   
          The only saving grace of the situation was that at least the Headmaster hadn’t sent along some New Death Eaters to “escort” Daniel to Hogwarts making sure he arrived “safely.”  Instead, Daniel was expected to walk into the “lion’s den” on his own…  By this time, Daniel had worked long enough at Security to know the futility of running and the ultimate consequences after recapture should he try, so Daniel gritted his teeth and reluctantly Apparated to Hogsmeade.  
          To his surprise, Daniel found a horseless carriage waiting at the station.  Daniel got in and the carriage took off.  Daniel could not begin to describe the incredible sense of gloom and doom he felt while he took that trip.  What would they tell his lovely wife, Terika, if he didn’t come home that night?  Would she learn the truth or would they tell some lie to her and blacken his name?  Daniel bitterly regretted having not updated his will; or left Terika a letter in advance telling her of his feelings.  He resolved to do both immediately should he get out of this alive.   
          Finally, Daniel saw the forbidding walls of Hogwarts loom ahead.  It looked like a giant prison to which Daniel had hoped never to return.  The gates swung open at his arrival beckoning him within bringing with it every terrifying memory Daniel had ever had of the place.  Surprisingly, as Daniel rode through the Hogwarts grounds, those memories seemed to pale against some of the things Daniel had since seen and experienced during the course of his Security work.  The Headmaster had been right, there _were_ places worse than Hogwarts.  
          The carriage slowed to a halt at the steps of Hogwarts.  Reluctantly, Daniel got out.  Immediately, three dementors descended upon him hungrily.  With no students around, they sought food wherever they could.  Daniel avoided them easily by racing into the castle; they could not follow him there.   
          “You’re late!” accused the growling voice of the Hogwarts Caretaker, Argus Filch, as the great doors clanged shut.   
          Daniel remained silent.  He wasn’t late; there had been no specific time set for the meeting.  Daniel knew the caretaker delighted in watching others squirm uncomfortably and refused to add to his pleasure.  “Why are you here?” Daniel asked instead.  “I’d heard you had, uh, retired.”  
          “I have,” admitted the caretaker grudgingly.  “I’m just awaiting my replacement before I leave.  Follow me,” Filch added leading Daniel up the stairs.  Filch had always looked old when Daniel attended Hogwarts, now he looked positively ancient.  
          “Where will you go?” asked Daniel curiously as they rounded a corner.  
          “I, uh, have some relatives in … Ireland I plan to visit,” he replied as they passed the huge painting portraying the _Victory Fight_ or, as the Non’s referred to it:  _Defeat of Dumbledore._    
          “Oh,” said Daniel politely.  Filch’s words were obviously a lie but Daniel didn’t press.  He knew this was not a retirement of choice.  Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic Augustus Rockwood had submitted and recently gotten passed a new law forbidding access of magical property to all Squibs even if they _could_ prove pureblood wizard ancestry.  Filch was no longer permitted to work or live at Hogwarts.  “Good luck to you,” said Daniel sincerely as they mounted the stairs.  The way the current government was going Daniel knew it would not be long before Squibs would be added to the list of undesirables along with Mudbloods.  He hoped Filch would be able to find a safe place to hide before then.  
          “Thank you,” said Filch gruffly.  They continued walking in silence, their footsteps echoing hollowly in the empty halls.   
          The two stopped at the base of a large stone gargoyle ornamented with twisting snakes at the base.  “Salazar,” said Filch.  The gargoyle sprang to life and hopped aside.  The wall behind him split in two revealing a large spiral staircase.  “He’s waiting for you,” growled Filch.   
          Daniel stood on the first step and the stairs started moving smoothly up.  They slowed to a stop when he reached the top.  Daniel found himself facing a polished oak door with a brass doorknocker that had the shape of a twining snake.  As he stood in front of it the door silently, ominously, swung open…

*********************

          Daniel remained rooted at the entrance with his eyes carefully downcast; he knew better than to enter a Slytherin abode uninvited.  He stood there for what seemed like an eternity but was probably only a few minutes before a familiar whisper hissed the word, “Enter.”  
          Daniel fearfully stepped into a circular room with a high ceiling not that Daniel saw that.  He kept his head and eyes down while he moved forward, as he had been taught to do.  It was Daniel’s first time in the Headmaster’s office but he dared not look around; he was already in enough trouble.   Though no longer a student under the Headmaster’s control, Daniel still knew that Headmaster Snape was a Death Eater and a person of considerable power.  
          “Stop,” commanded the voice and Daniel stopped, frozen in place standing in front of what appeared to be a large claw footed desk.  The headmaster was seated behind it. “Look at me!” hissed the voice ominously.  Daniel slowly raised his head and looked into the black eyes of Headmaster Snape.  For a full minute the Headmaster fixed his cold black eyes unblinkingly on Daniel, his expression unfathomable and Daniel, his mouth dry with fear and his stomach tying and untying in countless knots, stared back as instructed.  
          “Do you know why you are here?” the Headmaster finally whispered.  
          Daniel took a deep breath and began, “A Non cannot be expected to underst—”  
          “I do not take you to be a fool, Pilkington,” interrupted the Headmaster coldly.  “You were not summoned here to repeat mindless rhetoric.  Now,” he continued in that sibilant voice, his lip curling in a sneer, “need I repeat the question?”   
          Daniel swallowed uncomfortably, “No, sir,” he replied softly.  “And yes sir, I think I know why, sir.”  Daniel tried to look away but found he couldn’t.  The inky black eyes seemed to hold Daniel prisoner while compelling him to continue.  “It’s about yesterday, isn’t it?” he asked.  The Headmaster did not respond and his expression did not change.  “At the Royal Security Station,” added Daniel hesitantly.  Still Headmaster Snape did not speak; his black eyes bore into Daniel relentlessly and Daniel realized that none of what he had said so far would be reason enough for a summons.  Daniel gulped nervously.  Whoever had said that confession was good for the soul had never had to face Headmaster Snape.  “I guess,” continued Daniel fearfully, “the Intern present maybe thought that I was acting a bit like you…” he trailed off.  Surely that would be enough to answer the question.    
          “A bit?” hissed the Headmaster his black eyes narrowed ominously.  
          Daniel gulped again.  “O.K.,” he added in a rush, “maybe a lot like you…”  
          There was a long silence and then that sibilant voice whispered, “Did you?”  
          For one fleeting moment Daniel considered denying it all, claiming the Intern had made it up, and seen nothing…  But Daniel wasn’t a very good liar and he knew the Headmaster would see through him immediately.  “Yes, sir,” Daniel reluctantly admitted.  “I guess so,” he added softly.  And Daniel found himself finally able to drop his gaze and look away from those piercing black eyes.  He could see the top of the desk now, and Headmaster Snape’s long white fingers resting gently against each other on it.  
          “Why?”  
          “I had to,” Daniel muttered afraid to look up.  
          “Were you ordered?” came the Headmaster’s silky voice.  
          “No, sir, not in so many words,” stammered Daniel.  “But I still had to do it.”  
          “Explain.”  
          “It was for the job, you see,” began Daniel.  “The Muggles weren’t to know about us being wizards so I was forbidden to use a wand; and I was told they couldn’t know there were two kinds of wizards either…”  Daniel trailed off; this was difficult to explain.  
          “So…?” hissed the Headmaster.  
          “I’m not a Slytherin,” continued Daniel in a rush, “and, well, you’re the only person I know who can scare us all to death without using your wand so…”  
          “So you thought you’d impersonate me.” finished the Headmaster.  
          “Yes, sir,” agreed Daniel hanging his head.  “I’m sorry…” he added sincerely.  “I knew it was probably wrong but—”  
          “Did it work?” interrupted the soft voice.  
          “Well, yeah,” agreed Daniel.  “Beautifully.  The Muggles have never given me a bit of trouble but I’ll find some other way to—to manage things.”  Daniel fell into silence unsure of what else to say and afraid of what the Headmaster would do next.  The silence between them drew out so long that Daniel risked glancing up just a bit to see if the Headmaster was still there.  Daniel saw just the faintest of twitches on the Headmaster’s thin lips before hurriedly looking down again.  
          “Have you behaved this way at any time other than in the course of your … duties?”  
          “Oh, no, sir,” exclaimed Daniel earnestly inadvertently looking up again into those black inky pools, “I wouldn’t ever!”  
          Headmaster Snape stared back intently at Daniel as if seeking to probe the very depths of his mind and then the Headmaster looked down breaking the eye contact.  He picked up a quill and began writing on a parchment lying on the desk.  Daniel didn’t remember seeing it there earlier.  “See that you don’t,” said the Headmaster softly while he wrote.  Daniel stared at Headmaster Snape in astonishment!  Had he just received permission to continue?  Then the Headmaster said something most unusual.  “I want your word on that, Pilkington,” he commanded.   
          “Yes, sir, my word,” agreed Daniel with total sincerity standing up straighter, relief flooding his entire body.  No one had ever asked for his word before, least of all a Slytherin.  
          “Also,” added the Headmaster, “I do not expect you to mention the subject of this conversation to anyone, understand?”   He handed Daniel an order form reflecting his words.   
          Daniel took the order, and scanned it briefly.  “No, sir, of course not,” agreed Daniel readily before folding the order and placing it carefully within his order folder.  
          “I presume you did not mention the topic of our meeting beforehand,” the Headmaster queried softly again staring up at Daniel with those glittering black eyes.  
          “No, sir, I didn’t,” replied Daniel glad now he hadn’t explained things further to the Colonel.  
          “Then we can consider this matter concluded,” replied the Headmaster in his usual cold voice while scrutinizing Daniel steadily with his black eyes.  “You are … dismissed.”

*********************

          Later Daniel received written orders from the Headmaster forbidding him to discuss his behavior while at a Royal Security Station with anyone and a second order arrived forbidding Daniel from doing “impersonations” of Headmaster Snape at any time except during the course of his “duties” as Security Officer.  Daniel knew that order had arrived not, because the Headmaster thought Daniel would break his word, but to prevent other Slytherins from giving orders that might force Daniel to break his word.  Few would dare countermand the orders of a Death Eater.

*********************

          When Daniel and Richards returned to Wizard Security.  Daniel headed straight towards Wizard Higgs’ office.  If Wizard Higgs was still out, Daniel would seek some other Superior; he had to turn over the electronics material.    
          Fortunately, Wizard Higgs was in.  Daniel stopped just outside the door with his eyes carefully downcast and waited to be noticed.  Richards however, was under no such restriction.   
          “That was the best ever!” he told Wizard Higgs jubilantly while walking into the office.  “You should have been there!”  
          “There was trouble?” asked Wizard Higgs sharply looking up at Daniel.  
          “A minor security breach,” replied Daniel evenly bowing briefly and then holding out the Security pouch.  “Commander Sloane is taking care of it.  
          “Is he ever!” grinned Richards as Wizard Higgs held out his hand motioning Daniel to come in.  “I bet that Muggle won’t try anything like that again!  He should have known better than to try to put one over on us!”  Daniel walked in to the room and handed Wizard Higgs the pouch.  
          Wizard Higgs read the label and frowned.  “How long?” he asked while signing his receipt of it.  He absently handed Daniel a receipt for the pouch and placed the pouch on his desk.  
          “The Muggle claims just today,” said Daniel while folding the receipt.   
          “You believe him?”  
          “It seems most likely, but Commander Sloane is investigating further to be sure.  He will include his findings in his report,” added Daniel smoothly while placing the receipt in his envelope.  He didn’t like discussing things that happened at Royal Security.  
          “How was Richards?” inquired Wizard Higgs with concern.   
          “He behaved like a veteran officer,” replied Daniel sincerely.  
          “That’s great!” replied Wizard Higgs heartily.  “I knew you could!” he added to Richards.  
          “Will there be anything else?” Daniel asked, mindful of his other duties.  Daniel always asked as a matter of habit whenever he was ready to leave a Superior’s presence.   
          “No, that will be all,” replied Wizard Higgs.  Daniel nodded, bowed, and turned to leave.  “Wait a minute,” called out Wizard Higgs.   
          Daniel stopped and turned around.  “Sir?”   
          “That girl this morning,” Wizard Higgs began, “did she speak with an accent?”  
          “No, sir,” replied Daniel.  “Have you a name to add to her Alert?”  
          “That’s the thing,” replied Wizard Higgs, “our search has gone through all the Non families with children that age and hasn’t turned up a thing!  She _was_ a “Non” attending Hogwarts wasn’t she?”  
          “She never actually said,” replied Daniel honestly.  “But she was familiar with Hogwarts and definitely not Slytherin,” he added.   
          “That’s what I thought,” replied Wizard Higgs.  “Well, while we’re finishing all the local Nons, I’ve another team checking the Scot and Irish Nons; maybe someone gave her an English accent spell.  It can last longer than Polyjuice.  We’ll find out who she is!” he added confidently.  
          “Of course you will,” replied Daniel automatically.  
          “Do you know where Wizard Flint is?” Wizard Higgs asked.  “I want to give him an update.”  
          “I believe he said he would go to Thorpe to follow a lead,” replied Daniel.  “He may still be there.”  
          “Thanks.  Hey, Tom, want to come along?”  
          “Sure!” said Richards excitedly.  
          “Then give me your papers: I’ll sign you out of Security Alert duty.  You’re all done with that anyway, aren’t you?”  
          “Yep!” confirmed Richards cheerfully not bothering to check with Daniel first.  Richards pulled out his papers and gave them to Wizard Higgs.  
          “There,” said Wizard Higgs signing the papers and handing them back to Richards.  “That should take care of everything.  Now you have new orders!”  
          “Thanks!” replied Richards.    
          “You’re dismissed, Pilkington,” Wizard Higgs added over his shoulder to Daniel.  
          “Yes, sir,” said Daniel.  He gave a brief bow and then walked out of the room.

*********************

          Daniel headed off to find Security Transport Number Two that Wizard Flint said he had parked outside Wizard Security Station.  It still needed a “potions” clean up from earlier that day (courtesey the green-eyed girl.)  Wizard Flint had ordered Daniel to take care of it as soon as he finished the Security Alerts.   
          As he walked, Daniel removed the Security Pin from his lapel.  Using his wand, he whispered a spell that would change the pattern he used to transfigure the pin back to an Official Wizard Seal.  Daniel changed the pattern for his Seal after any person watched him make the transfiguration.  The Seal was also protected by other security measures of Daniel’s own devising, which he never mentioned to anyone.  Few Wizards were entrusted with a Security Seal and fewer still were Nons.  Daniel was under no illusion what might happen to him should an unauthorized person get a hold of his seal and use it.  The consequences (a very slow, agonizing death, if he was lucky) were clearly explained when Daniel was first given the seal and taught to transfigure it into a Security Pin.  Daniel took the threats seriously and guarded his Seal most carefully.   
          When Daniel finished his spell, he committed the new pattern to memory, pocketed his wand, and carefully affixed the pin in place back on his lapel.  Then he continued on his way to the front desk.  When Daniel reached the front desk, he walked to a peg jutting out of the wall on the other side.  Daniel put on the overcoat he found hanging on the peg.  It was Cedric’s overcoat but Daniel didn’t think Cedric would mind if he borrowed it.  Then Daniel went out the civilian door.  It wouldn’t do for Muggles to see Daniel walk out an ordinary looking door while wearing a Security Uniform.  Daniel could have Apparated himself directly outside, but all Apparations were logged in and Daniel knew Wizard Flint wanted to keep this particular clean up as quiet as possible.  
          Once Daniel stepped outside, he scanned the narrow alley for Muggle by-passers.  There were none; several anti-Muggle wards placed at strategic locations to keep it that way, but one still had to check.  Daniel pulled out his wand to look for Security Transport Number Two.  It was parked outside somewhere hidden by a Disillusionment Charm.  It would be easy enough to find, as Daniel knew the transport was there and was looking for it.  Daniel whispered a spell and pointed his wand up the dirty trash filled gutter on one side of the alley.  Nothing happened.  Then Daniel pointed his wand the other direction.  A faint ripple of light appeared towards the end.  That would be the transport.   
          As Daniel walked up to the area where the ripple of light had appeared, he pictured in his mind the image of Wizard Flint having to return to Wizard Security using the _civilian_ entrance looking and smelling like—well— .  That would have been a sight to see!  If the front office contained only Nons at the time, Wizard Flint would be able to keep the state of his “arrival” quiet.  If there had been Slytherins in the room, no telling what kind of gossip had been generated.  Slytherins couldn’t be ordered to keep quiet.  Reaching out with his hand Daniel found one end of the transport.  He began to feel along the side for the door handle. Daniel was also rather glad he had been the last in the office tested for the Non Count.  Otherwise Wizard Flint might have been tempted to “borrow” Daniel’s wand for the rest of the day...  No Non would dare refuse a Slytherin order for a wand.  But Wizard Flint would have never made such an order while in the presence of New Death Eaters; he would have had to explain why...  Daniel’s fingers found the door handle.  Using his Security pin as a key for the lock Daniel opened the door.   
          Daniel held his breath in anticipation of the rank odor he knew would come out once the door was opened.  The smell was pretty bad, as Daniel knew it would be, but not as bad as the Black Potion.   
          While Daniel worked at cleaning out the transport, he pondered the strange case of the green-eyed girl.  Why hadn’t they yet identified her parents?  She might be a Scot or an Irish as Wizard Higgs suggested, but somehow, Daniel doubted it.  A different accent would not change the fact that two Slytherin students, one who was “best in her class,” and the other, a Prefect, who Daniel knew was supposed to keep tabs on all Non students, had failed to identify her. They should have recognized the girl despite her disguise; it hadn’t been all that good.  So who was she?  
          Against all odds, Daniel began wonder if a Non Head Count would successfully uncover the parents as he had promised the girl.  He also suspected the parents would not come to fetch her, just as the girl had said.  Where were they?  Who were they?  Why couldn’t they come?  If the girl had been telling the truth about her parents, perhaps she was telling the truth when she had said other things...  
          Daniel finished cleaning the transport.  Then he sat on the edge of the opened door and spent some time just thinking.  Finally, he reached into the pocket of Cedric’s overcoat and pulled out the Muggle cell phone that was kept there.  He stared at it thoughtfully.   
          When Cedric was originally shuttled from department to department, he was often ordered to follow a Slytherin to a remote place where the Slytherin would then abandon him. The Slytherins thought it funny to force Wizard Amos Diggory to hunt for his son.  That’s why the Nons placed a Muggle phone in Cedric’s overcoat pocket.  (Even the Slytherins knew better than to let Cedric wander loose in a Security uniform.)  A message was written on the phone for Muggles who might find Cedric.  It was a simple message:  _My name is Cedric Diggory.  If you are reading this, it means I am lost.  Please dial  ——  and tell the person answering where I am so I can go home. Thank you._ Through the years several kindly Muggles had used the phone thus helping Cedric home.   
          The Nons, of course, never mentioned having given a phone to Cedric.  They changed the phone and the number one dialed periodically to keep it in sinc with current Muggle technology.  If the Slytherins knew about the phone, they never gave specific orders concerning it.  Being Muggle made, the phone was probably of no interest to the Slytherins.  It only served to make Cedric look less wizard-like and more ridiculous.  They didn’t know that sometimes the phone was put to other uses.  This was one such time.  Daniel dialed a number and placed the phone to his ear…


	12. Chapter 12

          “If I ever get back home I’m gonna take up Karate!” thought Holly disgustedly as she spit out bits of thread and lint that had stuck in her mouth.  Holly was crouched against a dirty alley wall huddled under the invisibility cloak.  She had been there ever since she had managed to round a corner before Wizard Flint and duck under the cloak.  He had raced up and down the alley several times looking for her passing right by each time.   
          Each time he had neared Holly had held her breath terrified he would somehow detect her presence.  She couldn’t imagine how the Wizard had failed to hear her heart that thumped so loudly in her ear but he didn’t.  Eventually the sounds of his footsteps died away.  Even so, Holly remained in place a long time afterwards afraid the silence might be some sort of a trap.   
          Finally Holly’s racing heart slowed so she could no longer hear it and her cramped muscles protested at being still.  She cautiously stood up.  Holly listened for unusual noises all around her and, hearing nothing, carefully took a step forward.  Moving as quietly as she could, Holly crept down the alley away from the direction of the Transport.   
          When she reached the end of the alley, Holly paused fearfully, certain Wizard Flint was waiting on the other side to grab her.  She heard nothing and sensed nothing but that was the problem with the invisibility cloak.  While wearing it Holly could not sense the emotions of others.  Holly felt blind as a bat but she could stand the suspense no more and finally decided to risk turning the corner.  No one was there waiting for her, no one she could see...  Holly continued on cautiously.  Maybe they were waiting for her at the next corner…  
          The measured thud of walking feet sounded behind her—Holly wheeled around and saw what appeared to be a regular person walking quickly behind her.  It was an older man with a short gray mustache wearing gray clothes and a gray hat.  Breathing a sigh of relief, Holly backed up against the wall letting the man pass without touching her.  As she did so, Holly noticed a Security vehicle approach slowly down the sidewalk.  No doubt the Security Officer on board was scanning the people looking for her.  Holly froze against the wall until the vehicle and its rider had flown completely past and was well out of sight.  
          More people appeared on the sidewalk.  Another Security vehicle flew slowly past coming from the other way.  Trembling, Holly stopped in place until she could no longer see it.  Then Holly again walked slowly along the wall looking in all directions to avoid touching others.  The walls were plastered with signs—“Royal Security is there to protect you!” said one sign showing a handsome young man in a security uniform cuddling a cute baby wrapped in smoking blankets.  A blackened building smoldered in the background showing more Security Officers busy putting out the fire and administering first aid to bloodied victims.  “Stop Terrorism!” proclaimed another poster showing a sinister looking man holding a bloody knife in the act of stabbing a helpless child.  “The life you save may be your own or that of someone you love!” continued the sign.  With each step Holly moved further away from the direction of the Security Transport.  As she walked, Holly gradually realized she must be heading towards the center of the town of wherever she was.  She encountered more traffic on the sidewalks, saw lots of people going in and out of restaurants, and saw more vehicles both on the streets and in the air.  Holly noticed that while the Security people scanned the crowds from the air they didn’t actually stop and look at faces.  Perhaps they were expecting their mere presence would cause her to panic and run…  
          It reached the point where Holly could no longer safely creep along the sides without running the risk of bumping into someone or being bumped into by someone else.  Deciding there might be enough people to hide between, Holly found a quiet corner behind a dumpster.  Checking first to make sure no one was looking, Holly took off her invisibility cloak.  Immediately all the outside emotions came flooding in.  Holly swayed from the assault but resolutely did not block.  She needed to know where the Security people were…  To her relief, Holly didn’t feel anyone like that nearby.  Nor did she sense any surprise or alarm that might have come from someone seeing her suddenly appear.   
          Holly crumpled up her invisibility cloak and placed it securely under her shirt.  Then she tucked her braids under her sweatshirt and pulled the hood over her head.  Lots of young people were wearing something similar.  Holly bent her head down and hoped she could blend in…  Not knowing what else to do, Holly continued walking cautiously forward, away from the transport towards the center of town.  No one seemed to notice that one more person had entered their ranks.  
          Suddenly Holly noticed a change in the overall emotion of the people in front of her.  They had gotten sadder somehow—ever so sad.  Holly looked up to see the source of the sorrow and to her horror, saw a dementor coming right towards her!!!  Immediately Holly backed away.  The sadness around her grew stronger; Holly hastily started blocking. The sky overhead darkened and the air got colder!  Holly turned and moved swiftly in the opposite direction.  Looking over her shoulder, she saw that the dementor was closer!  It seemed to have speeded up!  Holly increased her pace to a jog and rounded a street corner seeking an escape from the floating creature.  Looking back, Holly saw that the dementor had turned also!  It had speeded up as well!  Holly raced down the sidewalk!  She could hear the dry rattle of its raspy breath and feel a cold breeze behind her as the dementor chilled the air.  Holly turned down the next street hoping the change in direction would deter the dementor.  A glance over her shoulder showed that it turned down the street too—clearly following her!   
          In a panic, Holly rounded the next corner bumping into the people there.  Blindly Holly fumbled around them and kept running.  A hand reached out from behind the group of people and grabbed Holly’s arm jerking her to a stop!  “No!” she screamed struggling frantically.   
          “WALK!” ordered a voice and the hand pulled Holly the other direction right under the dementor!  Its icy presence chilled her to the bone and she could hear a long slow rattling breath that spelled certain doom.  A thick white fog seemed to fill her mind taking over conscience thought.  
 _“NO!” screamed Holly as she watched the huge tree in front of her fade and vanish in front of her carrying with it all chance to rescue Vernon and her parents.  “No!” she whimpered realizing she was all alone in a cold drafty dorm.  “I killed him!” moaned Albus and Holly felt overwhelming waves of depression wash over her…_  
          The thick white fog swirling within her mind thinned.  “Keep walking!” urged the voice that belonged to the hand.  The hand clutched Holly’s arm painfully and continued to pull her along.  Holly stumbled forward.  The hand held her up.  “Keep walking,” the voice ordered.   “Here comes another,” added the voice.  Holly blindly struggled to break away.  The hand tightened its grip dragging Holly forward.  “No!” the voice ordered, “Keep walking; don’t run!”   
 _The marsh mist cleared to reveal a body, horribly burned and disfigured, and another body, its eyes staring blankly right her pleading for help and another and another..._ “No!” moaned Holly sinking down in despair but the hand kept her up, kept her moving forward.  
          Abruptly the sensations ended and the air warmed.  Holly lurched forward finally breaking free of the arm that held her.  She stumbled to the ground and started retching violently.  They were dry heaves; there was nothing left in Holly’s stomach to spit up, but that didn’t stop her body from trying.  
          “They’ve gone on,” commented the voice calmly from above Holly.  “Here,” the voice added and Holly felt something warm and sticky pushed into her hand.  The voice sounded strangely familiar but Holly felt too weak to raise her head and look.  Holly stared at the stuff in her hand:  chocolate!  She raised a shaky arm and put the chocolate to her mouth.  Holly bit into it and sudden warmth spread throughout her body making her feel infinitely better.   
          “Thanks,” said Holly gratefully looking up at her benefactor.  “Ravindra!” Holly exclaimed happily recognizing the brown skin, warm brown eyes and familiar face of the person standing before her.   
          But Ravindra drew back swiftly at the mention of her name.  “How do you know me?” she demanded fiercely, sudden fear crossing her face.  “I don’t know you!”  
          “I, ah,” replied Holly at a loss for words.  How did one explain knowing someone from an alternate world that no longer existed?  “I guess I don’t,” Holly mumbled dropping her eyes unwilling to face Ravendra with a lie.  “You just looked like someone I knew…” she added lamely.  
          “Did you see my picture somewhere?” demanded Ravendra.  
          “Maybe that was it,” agreed Holly keeping her head down. Holly cautiously unblocked and again sensed the emotions around her.  People all around were horribly depressed but the emotions were again manageable. “Uh, what’s your name?” Holly asked politely.  
          The girl who looked and felt like Ravindra regarded Holly suspiciously with her brown eyes.  “No names,” she replied firmly.  
          “O.K.,” replied Holly easily.  That was how Mrs. Figg was too.  But the girl was definitely Ravindra.   
          Holly had worked with Ravindra at dueling at Hogwarts and knew her emotional presence well.  Of course, Ravindra was practicing Occlumency most of the time and was fairly good at it but there were still those days when her emotions had slipped through.  Holly looked up at the Ravindra of this world.  This Ravindra was thinner, almost gaunt.  Her curly hair was tied back with a faded red scarf; what showed looked dirty, limp and tangled; it lacked the neat cornrow braids finished with bright beads that had always been Ravindra’s trademark. There was a sadness about her that Holly had never before felt.  Ravindra wore an old navy coloured sweatshirt covered with grime and ragged spotted pants worn through at the knees.  She held a wrapper in one hand with a piece of chocolate within.  Raising her hand Ravindra took a bite of the chocolate.  
          Holly finished her chocolate.  “Uh, thanks for the chocolate,” she said as she wiped her hands on her pants.  Ravindra nodded, her brown eyes regarded Holly with an unwavering stare.  “How come you happened to have some?” asked Holly.  
          “Chocolate?” asked Ravindra.  Holly nodded.  Ravindra relaxed a bit at the question.  “I’m never without a piece or two, just in case.  Everyone knows chocolate helps chase away the Gloom.”  She took another bite of chocolate.  
          “The Gloom?” queried Holly.  
          “Yeah,” replied Ravindra.  “you know, when you suddenly feel so sad you just can’t bear it any more.  Sometimes, you feel so bad you want to throw yourself off a bridge and end it all.  I’ve wanted to,” she admitted.  “Lots of people do, you know, end it, when the Gloom strikes,” Ravindra added solemnly.  
          “Oh,” said Holly, not knowing how else to respond.  She stood slowly still feeling incredibly weak.  Ravindra reached out and placed her hand under Holly’s elbow steadying her.  “Thanks,” murmured Holly leaning on the hand gratefully.  “Does, ah, the Gloom strike often?” asked Holly as she straightened.  
          “Every other week or so,” replied Ravindra still regarding Holly intently, “sometimes more.  It comes on Thursdays the most,” she added.  
          “Thursdays,” repeated Holly.  “Today isn’t Thursday is it?”  
          “No,” agreed Ravindra.  “Friday.  And the Gloom struck yesterday too.”  
          “Oh,” said Holly numbly.  The dementors were clearly out hunting her!  
          “You can see them, can’t you?” blurted Ravindra suddenly.  
          “What?”  
          “The Gray Ghosts,” explained Ravindra.  “You can see them too, can’t you?”  
          “Uh—”  
          “Most people can’t see them,” continued Ravindra.  “Mum said I was making things up when I said the Gray Ghosts caused the Gloom; dad did too, but I wasn’t was I?”  
          Holly looked up at Ravindra with new understanding in her eyes.  Of course!  In her haste to get away from the dementor, she had forgotten that Muggles could sense them but couldn’t see them!  But if Ravindra’s parents couldn’t see them that meant they must be Mu— _“Oh, Ravindra!”_ sobbed Holly silently.  She could feel tears welling up in her eyes.  Wizard Pilkington had implied that nothing good had happened to Becky and her family and looking at Ravindra Holly knew it was true.  Holly hastily wiped her face so Ravindra wouldn’t see the tears there and looked again at Ravindra.  Ravindra was still regarding Holly intently waiting for an answer.   
          “No,” whispered Holly softly, “you weren’t.”  Holly knew how it had been for her to feel things no one else did, what must it have been like for Ravindra to see things no one else could—to have her own family think her crazy?  
          Ravindra let out a sigh and relaxed a bit more, the question had clearly been important to her, as was Holly’s answer.  “That’s what I thought,” she said calmly.  Then she held out the back of her right hand, the one without chocolate, showing it to Holly.  “What do you see?” she asked Holly bluntly.   
          Holly peered at the hand.  “A mark of some sort,” she answered after making out some sort of a squiggle in black on Ravindra’s brown hand.  It looked to be a cursive letter, a “W” or an “M”, or the number “3” depending on which way was “up.” “Maybe a tattoo?” Holly looked at Ravindra for further explanation for she sensed this question was as important to Ravindra as her last question.  But Ravindra merely moved the hand to her chocolate bar, broke off another piece and gave it to Holly.  
           “Thanks,” said Holly taking the piece gratefully.  “Uh, how did you know to walk?” she asked changing the subject as she took a bite.   
          “The Gray Ghosts usually travel overhead at a slow steady speed,” began Ravindra, “but when someone stops, they stay with that person.  And when someone runs, they follow,” she explained.  Ravindra finished the rest of her chocolate in a single bite, crumpled the wrapper and tossed it in the gutter.  “The last time I saw someone run as you did,” began Ravindra as she wiped her hands on her already grubby pants, “the Gray Ghosts chased him until he fell.  And then they hovered over him while he sobbed until Security came.  The Ghosts left and Security took him away.  I saw his face later on the news,” added Ravindra matter of factly.  “It said he was a terrorist bomber and had been crying with remorse over the terrible deeds he had done.  Is Security hunting you, too?” she asked abruptly.   
          “Uh, yeah,” replied Holly not seeing any point in lying to Ravindra.  Ravindra was a fugitive of some sort too and wasn’t likely to turn Holly in.  Besides, Holly needed help…  “Where are we anyway?” asked Holly suddenly.  
          “Aylesbury,” replied Ravindra raising an eyebrow as if questioning why Holly didn’t know this already.  
          “I need to get to London,” said Holly while ignoring the questioning glance.  “Is there some way I could get to there from here?  It’s really important.”  
          “There’s a bus station nearby,” said Ravindra.  
          Holly shivered remembering the last time.  “Is there some other way?”  
          “Well, there’s a train station too.  But you need more money for a train… And there’s more security.”   
          “I’ll have to risk it,” said Holly resolutely.  “If it’s not too far, could you show me the way?”  
          “Sure,” said Ravindra and she started walking down the alley.  Holly followed. “What’s wrong with bus?” Ravindra asked bluntly.  
          “I don’t dare take a bus,” said Holly.  “That’s how they got me last time!”  
          “They got you?” Ravindra stopped and looked at Holly with interest.  “And you got away?  How?”  
          “I threw up all over him,” said Holly grimly.  “And then I kicked him!”  
          “I’ll have to remember that,” said Ravindra solemnly and she continued walking but there was a twinkle in her eye that hadn’t been there before and her mood lightened to something resembling the Ravindra Holly remembered so well.  The two stopped at the corner and looked cautiously all around making sure it was safe before continuing on.  The sidewalks were strangely empty now.  Holly supposed people didn’t feel much like doing things after a visit from a dementor.  “I bet he was pretty mad,” said Ravindra presently. “The guy you kicked.”   
          “Furious,” agreed Holly remembering Wizard Flint’s face and emotions when it happened.  
          “That would explain all the extra Security flying about,” commented Ravindra calmly.  “You’d best take off that sweatshirt,” she instructed.  
          “What?”  
          “Your sweatshirt,” said Ravindra.  “They probably all have a description of you and that gray sweatshirt is part of it.”  
          “Oh,” said Holly understanding.  She rapidly pulled off the sweatshirt and held it in her hand uncertain what to do with it next.  Ravindra blinked without comment at the hot pink t-shirt, which Holly wore underneath. The t-shirt had on it a sparkly black line drawing of a fluffy cat with glittering green eyes.  Noticing her glance, Holly said self consciously, “Um, it was a present from my brother.”  And her thoughts flowed back unbidden to her brother and the recent birthday when she had received it.   
          They were on the road at the time.  The celebration was a picnic in some park away from other odors.  Holly hadn’t eaten much, nobody did.  Mum gave her an organ book with popular tunes, an implied promise they would find a school where she could continue her music lessons.  Vernon had given her the pink t-shirt.  He had laughingly apologized for the colour but said he thought the cat on it looked a lot like Sasha.  Dad gave her a silver heart for her charm bracelet.  Holly hadn’t even bothered to attach it but instead shoved the heart into her pants pocket where she had never removed it…  Holly suddenly reached down into her pants pocket…  The heart was still there!  Holly could feel it next to the Gringotts key!  A wave of guilt and homesickness washed over Holly.  Would she ever see him again?   Would she ever see any of them again?  
          “Right,” said Ravindra interrupting Holly’s thoughts.  “But it’s a bit flashy.  I think you’d best wear my sweatshirt over it; we can trade,” she said pulling off her own dirty blue sweatshirt and handing it to Holly.   
          “That looks better,” said Ravindra surveying Holly when they had finished changing clothes.  Ravindra was older and taller than Holly but the baggy gray sweatshirt hung loosely on her thin frame.  The faded gray highlighted her brown skin colour.  Ravindra’s sweatshirt actually fit better on Holly than the one she had been wearing.  “I think we should cut your hair too,” she added, “and wash it.”  
          Holly’s hand flew instinctively up to her hair.  “You know?” she asked wonderingly.   Ravindra nodded.  “But how?”  
          In response, Ravindra put her hand up to Holly’s forehead.  She ran a single finger along Holly’s hairline. “Kind of obvious, really,” said Ravindra lightly as she showed the finger to Holly.  It was covered with a greasy dark brown substance.  
          “Oh,” said Holly in a small voice.  
          “But it works from a distance,” added Ravindra cheerfully.  “Come along,” she told Holly, “I know a place where we can wash your hair…”

*********************

          “Put your hands in your pockets,” instructed Ravindra putting her right hand in the front pockets of the sweat suit.  Holly wondered why as she tucked her hands in her pants pockets, but didn’t ask.  Ravindra had already started down the alley and Holly hurried to catch up with her. Ravindra led Holly down the alley and up another one zigzagging between the streets.  “Security usually sticks to the main streets,” she told Holly as they travelled.  “I don’t think they like to make all the tight turns.”  They continued walking when Ravindra said, “You know London isn’t all that far, you could probably walk it in a day or two.  That might be safer than trying to use the public transport.”   
          Holly shook her head thinking of Vernon alone in that dark room.  “I don’t have that much time.  I’ve got to get there before—” she broke off.  “How long do you think someone can go without food or water?”  
          “I don’t know—two maybe three days for sure,” said Ravindra thoughtfully, “maybe a week if you must.  It's surprising what you can do if you’re—determined.”  And Holly knew Ravindra was speaking from some personal experiences.  “Why?” Ravindra asked curiously.  
          “My brother,” began Holly uncertainly not sure of what she could or should say...  “He’s in trouble, big trouble.  And I’ve got to get him out!”  
          “Oh.”  They walked a few more steps.  “That why you’re going to London?”  
          “Yeah, sort of,” said Holly.  “It’s complicated.”  
          “That why Security is chasing you?”  
          “No, not really,” replied Holly.  They continued walking and after a moment Holly added.  “They don’t know why they’re chasing me.  I mean, they think they know, but they don’t, not really.  I mean, someone _does_ know why, but not the ones actually chasing me.  They don’t know why they’re chasing me.”  
          “But you do,” queried Ravindra shrewdly.  “You know why they’re chasing you…”  
          “Yes,” whispered Holly.  “I know.  I’ve got to fix something they don’t want me to fix.”   
          “Can you?”  
          “I don’t know, but I’ve got to try.”  
          “And if you succeed?”  
          “Then everything will be all better,” said Holly with conviction.  
          “Hmmm,” said Ravindra dryly.  “Maybe for you.”  While not calling Holly a liar, she practically oozed disbelief.  
          “No, I mean it!” protested Holly earnestly, “even for you!”  
          “That would be difficult to do,” said Ravindra bitterly but not explaining further.  “In here,” she suddenly directed opening the door to a small public bathroom.  “The water’s cold but this place always carries a lot of soap.”  
          Ravindra entered with Holly following behind.  The place had two toilet stalls and a rickety looking sink with a cracked mirror but was empty of other people.  Once inside, Ravindra pulled out a pocketknife.  Grabbing one of Holly’s braids, she sawed away as near as she could to Holly’s hairline cutting off the braid.  She did the same with the other braid.  Then Ravindra carefully poked both braid ends into the bottom of the wastebasket piling dirty paper towels on top covering them.  “There,” said Ravindra using some paper towels to wipe off her hands and then her knife before carefully returning it to her pocket, “we wouldn’t want anyone to know you cut your hair, now would we?”  
          “No,” said Holly meekly.  With Ravindra’s help Holly washed the rest of her hair.  The water was icy; it took several generous applications of soap and numerous rinses before the brown finally came out.  Ravindra used her fingers to straighten out most of the tangles and then pulled a hank of the hair forward and cut it with her knife making bangs.  Then she reapplied her knife to the hair trying to trim off the stragglers.  “Well,” said Ravindra when she finally stopped.  “It’s not the straightest and the ends could be trimmed more, but your appearance won’t match any description they may have on you.”  
          “Thanks,” said Holly gratefully while surveying her looks in the mirror.  “I guess I’m ready to find the train station.  I just wish I knew how Security knew to pick me up the first time!” she muttered in frustration.   
          “What happened?” asked Ravindra curiously.   
          “I bought my ticket, waited for the bus and when it came I got on,” said Holly remembering.  “I was just like everyone else! I swear!” she exclaimed. “There was no inspection, no search!  No identity checks.  No one else was even remotely interested in me!  Yet the guys in black and red showed up and went right after me without giving the other passengers a seconds’ glance.  How did they know?”  
           “Um,” began Ravindra hesitantly.  “There was probably one difference…”  
          Holly looked up at her in surprise.  How would Ravindra know anything?  She wasn’t even there…  But her emotions indicated that she thought she did.  Holly waited for Ravindra to continue.  
          Ravindra held up her hand, the one with the black mark.  “This, um, mark,” began Ravindra hesitantly and Holly looked at it again curiously.  “It’s kind of like the Gray Ghosts.  Nobody else can see it except me—and you…”   
          “What?” exclaimed Holly staring at the dark mark with new interest.   
          Ravindra continued softly, “Everyone has one!  But they don’t see it.”  
          “Everyone?” whispered Holly now looking at her own hand obviously bare of the mark.  
          “Everyone,” confirmed Ravindra.  “Mum, dad, my brother and sisters, the people in town, all my classmates at school… Gran and Grandpa didn’t have it once,” added Ravindra reflecting, “but then Gran broke her leg and Grandpa took her to the hospital.  They both came back wearing one.  I asked Gran why she had gotten a mark.  She looked at me and laughed.  Gran said I had a fantastic imagination and that there wasn’t any mark!”  
          Holly thought rapidly of the people she had met so far as she tried to absorb the impact of this information. She hadn’t really been looking at people’s hands but Mrs. Figg hadn’t had a mark, of that Holly was sure.  Mrs. Figg was also probably older than Ravindra’s grandparents and so paranoid that Holly doubted she would have gone to a hospital or any official place where she might have been given one.  “Security too?” queried Holly softly.  Wizard Pilkington didn’t have a mark on his hand; neither had Cedric.  Wizard Flint had worn gloves so she couldn’t say for sure one way or the other about him.  
          Ravindra shook her head.  “I don’t know,” she admitted.  “They always wear gloves… That man,” Ravindra added suddenly, “the one who ran from the Gray Ghosts.  He didn’t have a mark either…”  
          The door to the washroom swung open and two ladies walked in.  Both were middle aged and wore faded flower print dresses and jackets with matching pillbox hats.  “Oh,” said the first lady in dismay noticing Holly and Ravindra.  “Is there a line?”  She wore a tan coloured jacket and a small bow on her hat.  
          “No,” assured Holly, “We’re finished.  We’re just cleaning up a bit now.”  Several women had come in to use the facilities since the two had entered.  None had emanated any emotions to worry Holly, but now she regarded the two with interest as they came out of the stalls and proceeded to wash their hands.  They both had a red squiggly mark on the back of their right hand.  “That’s an interesting mark on your hand,” Holly mentioned to the second of the two ladies.  She was the taller of the two and wore a cream coloured flower as embellishment to her hat. “Where’d you get it?”   
          The lady looked from her hand to Holly.  “What mark?” she asked bewildered.   
          “I’m sorry,” said Holly quickly, “my mistake.”  Both ladies clearly had no idea what Holly was talking about.  Reassured by Holly’s retraction, the lady finished washing her hands, waited for her friend to finish and then the two left the washroom.   
          “What colour were their marks?” asked Ravindra when they had left.  Her brown eyes stared intently at Holly.  
          “Red,” replied Holly staring again at the black mark on Ravindra’s hand.  The design had been identical; only the colour had been different.  
          “They’re all red,” confirmed Ravindra.  “Except mine.  It used to be red, but then it turned black.  Do you know why?”  
          “Maybe,” whispered Holly thoughtfully.  She reached out and took Ravindra’s hand in hers to study the mark closer.  Knowing what she knew now, the scrawl had to be an “M.”  “M” for Muggle, “M” for _Mudblood!_  
          “I saw another black mark once,” added Ravindra matter-of-factly.  “Security took him away for ‘interrogation.’”  
          “They’ll do the same to you,” said Holly bleakly still staring at the hand, “if they ever get the chance.”  
          “Was that all they did?” asked Ravindra removing her hand from Holly’s grasp and looking at it again. “Just interrogate him?”  
          “I doubt it,” replied Holly with tears welling up in her eyes.  “I don’t think anything good happens to someone with one of these if it turns black.”  And Holly mourned again for Becky who would not have lasted long in Azkaban prison.  Ravindra nodded.  Holly wasn’t saying anything new.  Ravindra had plainly already suspected as much and only sought confirmation.  
          “Do you think,” asked Holly after she wiped away her tears, “I could maybe find a red pen?”   
          Ravindra nodded.  “I know a place where we could look.”  And she led Holly out of the washroom.  “Put your hands in your pockets,” Ravindra again instructed when they stepped outside.  Holly rapidly complied.  This time Holly didn’t wonder as to the reason why.  
          Ravindra led Holly down one sidewalk and up another.  They turned onto a more traveled sidewalk next to a larger street.  Security Officials flew up one side and then the other.  Ravindra ignored them, as did the other people on the street.  Holly tried to follow suit succeeding in not outwardly jumping or running, but cringed inwardly as each one neared.  However the flying vehicles never slowed or stopped which Holly found most encouraging.   
           Ravindra stopped in front of a shop labeled “Boyd’s Stationary.”  She opened the front door and they walked in. “Hey!” growled a voice from inside.  “No riff-raff!  Get outta here!”  
          “We’re not loiterers!” retorted Ravindra.  She pulled out her left hand and waived a 10-pound note.  “We’ve money and we’re looking for something!”  
          “You better not be thieves!” growled the voice again.  Holly saw the voice belonged to a middle-aged proprietor with straight black hair and a thick bushy black moustache.  “We’re protected by Royal Security!” and the man pointed to the camera in his doorway and a huge television mounted in the center of his store prominently displaying “wanted photos” one after another.   
           “Don’t worry,” assured Ravindra.  “We aren’t.”  Ravindra continued walking into the store with Holly following behind.  “I found the note in the gutter one day,” explained Ravindra softly while they walked towards the back of the store.  “I’m keeping it for emergencies.  In the meantime, shop owners let me in when they see it because it means I’m a shopper not a beggar.”   
          They reached the back of the store where a large assortment of pens was on display.    “You can’t buy just any pen,” murmured Ravindra picking up the first red pen she saw.  “You have to first check to see if it’s working…”  And she used the pen to scribble on a pad of scratch paper provided for just that purpose.  She worked her way through several red pens before finding one whose red colour and ink flow suited her.  “This one is permanent ink, too,” Ravindra added.  “So it shouldn’t smear or wash off if it gets wet…”  Using her own black mark as a guide, Ravindra started drawing a fancy cursive “M” on the back of Holly’s right hand.  “Well, what do you think?” she asked softly when she finished.   
          “It looks good,” said Holly comparing it against Ravindra’s hand.  “But will it work?”  
          “You won’t know that until you try…” replied Ravindra philosophically.  “Be sure you let it dry a while,” she added while replacing the cap on the pen she used.  “Come on!  We should get out of here.  Ravindra replaced the pen on the display and the two headed for the entrance.  “You ever been to Ireland?” asked Ravindra casually when they had almost reached the exit.   
          “What?  No!” answered Holly surprised by the question.  She looked at Ravindra and saw she was looking at the huge television screen showing the Royal Security “wanted” photos.  Holly turned her attention to the screen.  Prominently displayed was a photo of—herself!  It didn’t really look like her with the braids and brown hair but Holly knew it was of herself anyway.   
          “It says you are wanted for questioning in connection with a missing cruise ship off Ireland,” commented Ravindra softly.  “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you?”   
           “What cruise ship?” responded Holly absently while staring at the photo which stared eerily back at her.  She tried to think when it had been taken of her, but couldn’t place the pose.  
          “That’s what I thought,” replied Ravindra dryly.  “Come on!”  And she took Holly by the elbow and steered her outside.  “The Alert only mentioned Aylesbury,” Ravindra said cheerfully.  “So you’re better off any place but here.  You still want to go by train?”  
          “Yes,” replied Holly.  Even knowing what probably tipped Security off, and maybe having taken care of it, Holly could not face the thought of getting on another bus.  It had been too confining; there were no exits and no place where she could run and hide.  She would rather try a train this time.  
          “Well, the station’s this way,” said Ravindra.  “Come on.”  She led Holly up and down several streets behind some buildings and through concealed openings through walls.   
          “Some of the people here let me stay overnight when it gets really cold,” Ravindra said when they entered the Friar’s Square Shopping Mall.  “I watch their places and make sure no one steals anything…” she explained, “but I have to come in the back way and leave before things open…  The garbage bins have some pretty good food here too,” she added.  “There’s a chocolate shop on Cannock Road where the owner gives all his outdated chocolate away for free.  I bet he’s had a lot of business today...”  
          Ravindra spoke nonstop about anything and everything.  Holly shivered as she listened in horror to Ravindra’s accounts of daily life in Aylesbury.  She hadn’t asked to hear it but Ravindra seemed to know Holly needed distracting.  Her words helped keep Holly’s mind off all the photos of herself she saw featured prominently on the televisions they passed.  It seemed everywhere Holly looked she could see her own face slightly tilted downwards staring back at her.  It was most disconcerting. Even though Holly knew no one was likely to recognize her from that photo, she still felt exposed and vulnerable out in the open.  Holly would have probably never made it through the Mall had she not been able to read the emotions of the people in the crowd and could tell no one paying her the slightest bit of attention.   
          Ravindra drew to a stop at the edge of a busy street outside of the Mall.  “There,” said Ravindra pointing across the street to an imposing gate that blocked a road which turned off the street. A huge sign over the gate read “Aylesbury Rail Station.” A small tollbooth manned by someone in a Security uniform sat on the side of the road.  A car turned off the street, drove up to the booth and stopped.  A guard with a German shepherd dog on a leash stepped forward.  She walked her dog all the way around the car and then returned to the side of the road.  After a few seconds, the gate swung open and the car drove through.  Another car drove up at stopped at the booth...  As Holly and Ravindra watched, a city bus pulled up and stopped on the side of the street obscuring their view of the gate.  When it moved on, several people were walking towards a smaller entrance with a second tollbooth that was located to one side of the gate.  
          A chain link fence with barbed wire twisting on top stretched out from either side of the gates.  A dementor floated slowly along the fence.  It reached the gates, turned and went the other way still following the fence.   
          “There’s the rail station,” continued Ravindra, “and this is where we must part company.”  Holly looked up in surprise.  Nothing had been said, but she had hoped Ravindra would accompany her all the way…  “They’ve too many security checks over there,” explained Ravindra noting the questioning look in Holly’s eyes. “No amount of red ink can disguise the colour of my mark,” Ravindra added rubbing the back of her hand self-consciously.  “I don’t dare come any closer.”  Holly nodded in understanding.  It had been great travelling with someone but Ravindra was right.  The rail station was dangerous for Holly but even more so for Ravindra.  
          “Thank you for everything,” whispered Holly.  “I don’t know how I would have made it this far without you.”  
          Ravindra tilted her head slightly in acknowledgement.  “Here,” she said shoving a crumpled piece of paper in Holly’s hand.  “You’ll need train fare,” explained Ravindra while Holly unfolded the paper and looked at it.  It was the ten pound note that Holly had seen Ravindra wave at the shop owner.  “I can’t take this!” said Holly holding the paper out to Ravindra.  “It’s all you’ve got!  What’ll you do in emergencies?”  
          “And how will you get on the train without it” countered Ravindra.  “You’ve nothing of your own do you?”  Holly lowered her eyes ashamed to agree and unwilling to explain about the cloak she had thought to use.  Though, in all honesty, she wasn’t quite sure how she could have gotten past that dog sitting attentively at the gate.  Holly doubted the cloak would hide her from him…  “I’ve more,” Ravindra said easily, a comment Holly knew immediately was a lie.  “Don’t worry about me!” continued Ravindra.  “Besides,” she added, “you’ve got something to fix.  And I think that may be more important right now.”  
          “What?” asked Holly looking up at Ravindra.  
          “I don’t _know_ you,” began Ravindra staring intently at Holly. “But you _know_ me—and not from some poster,” she added hurriedly.  “Because if you did, then—” Ravindra broke off and looked down at the ground.  “This mark,” she began again softly looking down at her hand.  “It turned black when I was ten.  A week later I came home late from the library.  I saw a bunch of Security vehicles parked outside our house so I hid…  When the Security left I went inside…  My parents, grandparents, brother and sisters were all—there was so much blood!” she added with anguish in her voice, in her very essence.  
          “No!” whispered Holly aghast.  
          “They said I did it!” Ravindra started again. “I didn’t; I swear!” she added covering her face with her hands.  After a while Ravendra looked up at Holly with tears streaming down her eyes.  “But if you’d seen my picture then you’d have seen me in the middle of all that, that – surrounded by my dead family and c-covered with blood!”  She gulped and Holly wrapped her arms around Ravindra trying to console her from an impossible grief.  “They update it every year!” she added brokenly.  “The s-same pose with me in it but aged a year older somehow.”  
          “You didn’t do it!” assured Holly despite her own tears.  “I know you didn’t do it!”  And Holly hugged Ravindra even tighter as if a hug could make everything right again.  
          “I don’t know how I got away alive,” finished Ravindra pulling away from Holly.  “But sometimes, I wish I hadn’t.  I wish that whatever had killed them had killed me too!”  
          “No!” Holly moaned softly overcome by Ravindra’s emotions feeling them as her own.  
          “You _know_ me!” repeated Ravindra staring straight in Holly’s unwavering eyes.  “Not only that, but you know me as a _friend!_   I saw it in your eyes!”  Ravindra looked down again. “I don’t know how that can be—I’ve been alone so long — without a -– a friend!” and her emotions radiated the pain of loneliness.  Ravindra looked back up at Holly.  “And to find one I don’t even know about—” Ravindra broke off unable to continue.  Then she added, “You’re not possible—but you’re here!  So I’m thinking that whatever you have to “fix” has to do with that doesn’t it?”  
          “Yes,” whispered Holly grabbing hold of Ravindra’s hands trying to fill her words with sincerity and confidence.  “It does.”  
          “Well,” Ravindra said softly, “I hope you succeed because I’d forgotten how it felt to have a friend and now, I don’t think I can take living like this much longer.” Ravindra’s desolate voice broke choked with emotion.  “I’d rather you use the money than no one at all…” she added bleakly.  
          “Oh, Ravindra!” sobbed Holly overwhelmed by the guilt and depression she felt emanating from Ravindra.  Ravindra shuddered with the use of her name but Holly wrapped her in a warm hug and wouldn’t let go.  “This is not your fault!  None of it!” she insisted.  Ravindra began to cry softly and clung to Holly overcome with emotion.  They hung onto each other for a long time both crying until the tears ran out.   
          Then Ravindra gently disengaged herself from Holly.  “Hey,” she said looking at Holly’s hand with a smile.  “It’s a good thing I used permanent ink or everything would be all smudgy now.”   
          Holly sniffed and looked at the mark on the back of her hand. “Yeah,” she agreed sniffing again.  “That was smart of you.  But you were always incredibly smart.”    
          Ravindra raised an eyebrow at this further admission of their “relationship” but said nothing.  Instead, she stretched out the sleeve of her sweatshirt.  Using it as a hankie she gently applied it to Holly’s face.  “We wouldn’t want Security to think anything’s wrong now would we?” she said as she wiped Holly’s face dry.  Tears still glistened from Ravindra’s brown eyes.  
          “No,” whispered Holly.  “Thank you,” she added when Ravindra had finished. “Thank you for everything.”  
          Ravindra nodded and wiped the moisture from her own face.  “No problem.  You’d better hurry on now,” she added stepping back from Holly, “you’ve got a train to catch.”  
          “Yeah,” agreed Holly sorrowfully.  “You be careful,” she told Ravindra while turning reluctantly towards the gate.  
          “You too,” replied Ravindra.  
          Holly took a few steps forward but then she ran back to Ravindra giving her one last hug. “It’s gonna be O.K.!” she assured Ravindra, “I promise!”  
          “I’m counting on it,” said Ravindra in a confident voice while hugging back but her emotions were a bleak as before.  “Go on now!” she ordered giving Holly a gentle shove away.   
          Holly turned again and faced the station entrance.  Looking both ways, she carefully crossed the street and walked over towards the gates.  When Holly looked back over her shoulder, she saw Ravindra still standing there, looking alone and forlorn.  Holly raised her hand in a final farewell; Ravindra raised hers in return.  Then taking a deep breath Holly resolutely walked over to the line of people waiting to get in.  She joined the line with the others.   
          “Purpose?” asked the official at the booth when Holly reached the front of the line.  “I’m going to London,” she told the man confidently while showing him her ten pound note.  “My family’s waiting for me there,” Holly added.   
          “Over there,” he indicated with a nod of his head.  Holly obediently stepped the location indicated.  The other people had done the same thing before her.  A Security Officer stood there holding some sort of rectangular machinery in his hand.  
          “Hold out your arms!” he ordered impersonally.  
          “Why?” asked Holly curiously while quickly scanning the man’s emotions.  He wore the black and red uniform of Security, but his emotions were less pronounced, definitely a Muggle.  
          “I’ve got to search you,” he explained.  “We’re looking for possible terrorists.  You don’t want the line interrupted by terrorist activities do you?”  
          “Oh, no,” agreed Holly raising her arms and hands high.  
          The man ran the instrument all around Holly, front and back without touching her.  It hummed quietly.  While he worked, Holly gave one last glance in Ravindra’s direction.  Ravindra was gone.  
          “Thank you,” said the man politely when he had finished.  He nodded to another man in a Security uniform who then opened the gate for her.  Holly stepped forward and walked through.  The gate closed with a resounding “clunk” behind her.


	13. Chapter 13

          There were more security measures within the fence.  More Security guards in red and black uniforms stood about watching.  Matching the speed of other passengers, Holly walked steadily forward and stood in another line where everyone was again briefly searched.  A Security Official came out with a dog when Holly stood in the next line to get her ticket.  Holly held her breath as the dog passed wondering if someone had given it the bag Holly had gotten from Mrs. Figg and had held when she was first captured…  Maybe the dog could have gotten her scent from the vomit…  Did Wizards even use dogs for tracking?  But the dog gave her only a cursory glance as it sped up the line checking all the people.   Holly breathed a silent sigh of relief as the dog passed.   
          The man behind the counter didn’t give Holly a second glance when she asked for her ticket.  Holly paid for it using Ravindra’s note.  Holly considered doing the transaction using her left hand, but finally decided either Ravindra’s art would work or not.  Trying to hide her hand might seem more conspicuous thus draw more attention to the hand and her…  Holly had no idea when that photo had been taken, but remembering her last experience, Holly decided she might be safe enough for a while even if she were identified.  The Security Wizards had waited until the last minute, when Holly was in no position to flee, before moving in to collect her.  Perhaps that was standard procedure…  
          After getting her ticket, Holly scanned the rest of the station checking out the emotions present while looking for a place to sit and wait for her train.  She froze:  Standing squarely in front of the boarding gate, carefully scrutinizing the ticket of every passenger in line to board the train was another red and black Security Officer—but this one was a Wizard!  His Slytherin-like emotions shouted out loudly like a beacon!  
          Holly cautiously sat down near a posted exit next to a friendly feeling man with blond hair reading a newspaper.  She hoped people watching her would think she was travelling with him.  While sitting, Holly scanned for other wizards.  She found a second wizard standing like a sentinel by a red door on one wall!  Holly recognized the door with fear.  The Wizards in Security uniforms had dragged her through one like that last time and then somehow transported her to the Wizard Security Station!   Holly closed her eyes and scanned the emotions she felt in the station—in particular the Wizard ones.  The Wizard by the door was wary and alert but not expecting.  His emotions didn’t seem indicate that he knew Holly was there.  The Wizard at the gate hadn’t seemed to notice Holly either.  
          Holly considered the situation while she sat.  With her bangs, short hair, different hair colour and different shirt, the Wizard by the door was too far away to recognize her easily.  If he remained by the door he would be of little danger to her unless something aroused his suspicions.  Of more immediate concern was the Wizard by the gate.  Holly would have to get past him to get onto the train.  Could she use her invisible cloak and slip on board?  Probably not.  A solid glass wall stretched parallel along the rails; its only opening was behind the Wizard and it was too high to easily climb, especially while under a cloak.  The dogs would notice her and give an alarm for sure if she tried.  What about slipping in alongside or behind the wizard?  No, again.  He stood too close to the gate and wall.  The Wizard would feel her pass for sure.  Holly finally concluded the only way to get past him would be to stand in line like everyone else and hope Ravindra’s art fooled him.  He certainly wouldn’t be expecting it.  If only there were some way to distract him so he wouldn’t get a good look at the mark...  
          Having made up her mind Holly looked around the station for something to take her mind off what she would be attempting.  She scanned the crowd checking for unusual emotions or other possible dangers.  She could sense nothing but that was how it had been at the bus station.  Posted prominently in view was a huge television screen, which displayed Holly’s face alternately with the missing cruise ship on which she was supposed to have information.  Other faces appeared occasionally on the television screen too—people Holly did not recognize.  The caption assured viewers that each person displayed was connected with some horrible terrorist act but Holly now suspected the “terrorists” were probably fugitive wizards or hapless Mudbloods guilty of nothing but the “crime” of existence.  
          Unable to watch the screen any more, Holly turned to the man next to her.  He had finished his newspaper and tucked it under his arm.  “Excuse me,” said Holly timidly “but could I borrow your paper to read?”  
          “Certainly,” he replied pleasantly and handed Holly the newspaper.  
          “Thanks,” said Holly taking the newspaper.  She unfolded it and stared in disbelief at the huge black headline written there.  “Malfoy Declares Success!”  _Malfoy???_ Holly read on… 

_Prime Minister Malfoy jubilantly declares the new anti-terrorist_  
 _laws have reduced terrorist activities by fifty percent!  New statistics_  
 _released by Royal Security showed that reported terrorist activities_  
 _have dropped by 50% over the last six months indicating that increased_  
 _Royal Security measures have been saving lives!  He thanked the British_  
 _people for their continued support…_  


          Holly studied the photo accompanying the article.  It showed a proud man with a pale, pointed face.  His blond hair was neatly sleeked back and the smile on his face looked a lot like a familiar sneer Holly had seen several times before...  Could this be a relative of Scorpio?  The man looked a lot like Scorpio, but that would make the Prime Minister a Wizard!  Not only that, a _Slytherin_ Wizard—one who no doubt hated Muggles and Mudbloods as much as Scorpio did!  How could he be Prime Minister?   
          Holly closed her eyes trying to remember what she knew of the Malfoys.  It wasn’t much.   Scorpio was an arrogant brat.  Hagrid had said something about Scorpio’s dad and Cousin Harry being enemies during school and that Cousin Harry had spoken up in defense of the family at their trial saying they’d had a change of heart towards the end…  That meant they must have supported Lord Voldemort at some time—of course they did; they were Slytherins!  But—how could he be Prime Minister too?  A Wizard in charge of Parliament would make it easier to control the country…  But—Malfoy?  Wouldn’t people notice?  Holly shook her head in confusion.  
          Holly looked at the other headlines on the page.  “Explosion rocks Aylesbury Waterside Theater!  13 dead—Terrorists suspected” “Royal Security Officer Decorated:  captures three Terrorists!”  “Journalist Missing!  Terrorist suspected!”  
          Holly turned the page:  “Terrorists Apologize!”  Holly read further:  _Three terrorists tearfully confess their crimes; hear and watch their full confessions on line…_   The Newspaper showed the photos of three persons, each identified as a terrorist—none of whom Holly recognized.  There were other headlines:  “Terrorist Identified”  “Tip leads to Major Terrorist Bust!”  “Memorial Services to be held for Terrorist Victims.” “Royal Security Saves family from Terrorist Threat”   
          “How could people believe this stuff?” thought Holly dejectedly.  It had to be all pure garbage!  On the other hand, how could people not believe and still survive?  
          Holly looked to the third page seeking something besides terrorist topics to read.  A photo of a plain looking man wearing dark rimmed glasses caught her eye.  “Ewens dead at 48” read the caption.  Holly read further. 

 

_Eminent scientist Sheridan Ewens died yesterday afternoon at 2:23 pm by_  
 _his own hand after the Gloom struck the neighborhood.  Ewens had devoted_  
 _the last fifteen years of his life trying to determine a scientific cause for the_  
 _Gloom.  Witnesses reported that the Gloom struck Ewens’ neighborhood_  
 _around noon and again at 2:20 pm yesterday afternoon.  Police speculate_  
 _that the Gloom forced Ewens to confront his inabilities as a scientist and,_  
 _unable to face his failures any more, he chose to end his life instead…_

_Ewens is best known for his work with radio and sound waves improving_  
 _the reception of television and numerous types of sound sets.  He is_  
 _survived by his wife and three children.  Services with chocolate will be_  
 _held some time next week.  More details will be announced as soon as_  
 _the arrangements are completed…_

          Below it was a photo of a man flanked on one side with a woman; they both had wide smiles on their faces.  The caption read:  “Macklin Acquitted of Vehicular Manslaughter!— _the Gloom made me do it_!!”  
          Holly turned to another page and scanned the headlines: “Gloomologists predict less Gloom during the Summer Months!”  “Hospital claims record high visits after last Gloom!”  “What Babies feel during a Gloom”   “Pregnancy and Gloom”  “School Re-administers Exam after Gloom Strike”  “Homeless Center teams with Red Cross to Distribute Chocolate.”  
          Holly turned to the next page:  “Top Ten Vacation spots in Great Britain—places least hit by the Gloom”  “Escape the Gloom!—Cruise Ship Getaways”  “New Study Reveals Fish Feel the Gloom”  “Gloom Service Dogs Now Available”  “Three sugar-free Chocolate flavors introduced”  “Chocolate sales up again in the second quarter!—success attributed to a rise in Gloom strikes.”  An ad at the bottom of the page read:  “Buy Glommly Insulation—guaranteed to reduce the effects of Gloom by 10%!"  
          Holly refolded the newspaper and set it down; it was too depressing to read.  Surely there was something else she could do to pass the time.  A low rumble in her stomach reminded Holly that she hadn’t eaten since before daybreak and even that hadn’t lasted past lunch.  She had a small bit of change left over from purchasing her ticket so Holly got up and walked to a small shop on the other side of the station.  Maybe the place had some food she could afford…  
          Holly looked hungrily at the sandwiches in the store—none of which she could afford.  She finally selected two small chocolate bars within her price range.  Holly ate one immediately.  It felt good going down and Holly started to eat the other one too.  But then she remembered the dementor floating around the perimeter of the station and Ravindra’s words about always keeping a bar handy; Holly reluctantly tucked the second bar away for later, just in case.  
          A loud rumble announced the arrival of a train.  An intimidating black train with red “V’s” painted on it rolled to a stop along side the station.  Checking the time, Holly realized that it was the train she wanted to take.  She watched apprehensively as other passengers began to line up to one side of the gate to board.  The Wizard in the Security uniform stood in place blocking their way.  Though Holly couldn’t sense any actual guilt coming from any of them the people in line were all a bit fearful and worried; apparently just getting near Security made them feel that way.  The Wizard impassively watched the passengers line up.  He was alert and watchful but not actually suspicious.   
          People started to get off the train.  Holly watched as they lined up on the other side of the wall behind the same gate.  When no more passengers got off the train the Wizard opened the gate and stepped aside to let the people through.  After everyone leaving had passed through the gate, the wizard motioned for the first of the passengers waiting to board to come forward. The first person was a man in a neat business suit.  The man felt a bit fearful when approaching the Wizard even though Holly could tell he believed he had nothing to fear from Security.  The Wizard scrutinized the man’s ticket carefully before returning it and letting him through.  Then the Wizard motioned for the next person to come forward.  She was an elderly woman, also in a business suit.  She stepped fearfully up; her hand shook a bit as she held out her ticket for the Wizard to take…  
          Holly joined the end of the line.  Others crowded up joining the line behind her.  Holly’s heart was beating so loudly in her ear that surely the others near would hear it.  But no one paid her any attention.  Person by person Holly neared the front of the line.  Was it getting warm in the station?  Holly drew off her dirty blue sweatshirt and tucked it under her arm.  Her relatively clean bright pink t-shirt beneath caught everyone’s eye.  Holly noticed several nearby passengers immediately regard her with new interest.  That was the idea.  No one on the run would wear something so bold.  Maybe the Wizard on duty would be so busy looking at her shirt that he wouldn’t pay attention to her hand…  
          Three persons, two persons, one—finally it was Holly’s turn to give the Wizard her ticket.  Silently the Wizard motioned Holly forward.  He regarded her with renewed interest as Holly timidly approached.  Was it the pink t-shirt?  Probably not.  Though her shirt and hair had changed, Holly knew she was still the same approximate age and gender of the person he sought.  The Wizard would be a fool not to pull her aside for further examination just on general principles…  Holly knew some Slytherins were major idiots, but she couldn't count on this one being one of those idiots.  Holly resolutely held out her ticket to the Wizard for inspection; she tried to keep her hand steady and hoped the Wizard didn’t notice its faint tremble or hear her pounding heart.  Was she too calm or showing too much fear?  Holly didn’t know.  The Wizard took the ticket suspiciously and started to scrutinize Holly carefully starting with the hand that held the ticket…  
          “Thank you,” said Holly suddenly.  
          “What?” said the Wizard disconcerted.  He looked abruptly from Holly’s hand to her face and Holly looked back.  
          “Thank you for keeping us safe,” said Holly clearly looking directly into the Wizard’s black eyes just as her dad had taught her to do when meeting new people or making apologies.  Startled, the Wizard looked into Holly’s green eyes and the two stared at each other.  No one else had spoken while in line, either to the Wizard or to each other.  Holly’s voice had surprised him, surprised everyone in line that could hear her, and he was clearly disconcerted by her words.  The praise was totally unexpected and undeserved.  They weren’t protecting anyone, as Holly well knew, but that was not something he could admit in public.   
          It was the Wizard who looked away first.  “Go on!” he muttered gruffly while thrusting the ticket back into Holly’s hand.  “You’re holding up the line!”  
          “Thank you,” repeated Holly softly, politely.  She took the ticket and moved slowly forward through the gate.  The Wizard stood behind her motioned the next person forward while still clearly feeling uncomfortable by the encounter . 

*********************

          With every step further away from the Wizard, Holly’s breathing slowed a fraction but she could still feel and hear her heart wildly pounding ever so loud!  Holly clung to the handrail sagging with relief as she climbed the steps into the nearest compartment.  Once inside, Holly moved swiftly back to the end of the car then on to the next and the next until she found one empty of people.  It was an economy car filled with plain straight-backed benches that permitted maximum seating and afforded no privacy.  Holly ducked down behind the last bench, took out her invisible cloak and pulled it over herself.  She closed her eyes and huddled beneath the cloak trying to keep quiet; she couldn’t seem to stop herself from shaking.  Holly may have gotten past the Wizard but for how long?  Were there still others?  Did they plan to pluck her off the train as they had with her on the bus?  The train compartment felt like one huge cage!   For the moment, Holly was still “free” but she would not feel even remotely safe until she had gotten off the train and was again out in the open…   
          It had been a major gamble to look directly at the Wizard but not totally without logic.  When first captured, Wizard Flint had charged Holly with “disrespect” for looking directly at him.  Wizard Pilkington told Holly to keep her head down and eyes averted at all times while in the presence of Slytherins; he implied the behavior was taught to Nons while at Hogwarts.  Indeed, all the Nons Holly had seen at Hogwarts during her experience two years ago had kept their heads down as well.  Holly noticed Wizard Pilkington kept his head down while around Wizard Flint, as did the other Nons she passed when Wizard Flint dragged her through the Security Station.  The Slytherin Wizard was looking for an escaped Non; he would never expect a "Non" to look him directly in the eyes.  It just wasn’t done here.  
          More people came into the car and sat down.  Holly heard them coming but didn’t risk sneaking a peek to see who or how many.  She didn’t budge from her location and thankfully no one tried to use the area where she sat to place luggage or bags.  The invisible cloak hid Holly from others but also made her blind to outside emotions.  Holly was determined to not move or in any way give up her location.  She feared there might be Wizards patrolling the train too.  
          A sharp whistle sounded and then the train rumbled into motion. Holly held her breath and stared anxiously at the seat back in front of her.  She scarcely believed the train was really taking off with her still on it.  Perhaps this was all a cruel joke.  Surely Wizard Flint had figured out she had an invisibility cloak and Wizard Pilkington had told them she was bound for London!  Perhaps the wizards planned to swoop in and take her off while the train was still in motion!  Maybe they’d seen her come in and put on the invisibility cloak.  If they had, then they would know exactly where to find her!  The train began to pick up speed.  Looking fearfully around, Holly kept the cloak securely over her body and scurried to the opposite side of the car. The racket of the rolling train covered any noise she might have made.  If they came for her now, they wouldn’t know her exact location.  Maybe Holly would still have a chance to slip away unnoticed…  
          The train slowed.  _“No!”_ thought Holly in a panic.  Suddenly the train jolted to a stop.  _“They’re coming!”_ Holly looked about frantically for some new place to hide.  The whole rail system shut down.  The lights went out and the interior of the train car became dark.  Not a sound could be heard.  No one spoke; no one moved.  Holly waited in dread not daring to move either.  They were coming and she couldn’t stop it!   
          The door slid open…  A tall, cloaked figure glided forward.  A dementor!  It drew a long slow rattling breath and an intense cold filled Holly!  She couldn’t think!  She couldn’t breathe!  The cold went deeper and deeper into the center of her very being!   
 _“NO!” screamed Holly at the sight Vernon vanishing!  “NO!  NO!  NO!  NO!  NO!” she screamed over and over again while pounding the ground in front of the tree stump!  “No!” she whimpered all alone in her dorm.  “Hide!” whispered Holly frantically feeling Megan’s fear as if it were her own. “There was so much blood!” said Ravindra hollowly her overwhelming grief and loneliness again filling Holly._  
          Abruptly the intense cold ended.  The dementor had left.  Holly could breathe again.  She found herself kneeling on the floor with tears streaming down her face.  Sobbing, she clutched her knees and rocked back and forth remembering.  Dementors and Security Wizards were everywhere!  They’d catch her eventually.  How could they not?  And then what?  She’d never escape again and they’d never let her live!  The situation was hopeless!  Impossible!  Why bother even trying?  Her parents were gone; Vernon was dead or dying; her friends were all dead; why was she even alive?  Holly could see no reason to keep on going:  no reason to live…   
          A short while later the lights in the car came on.  Then the train started a slow rumble forward.  
          While wallowing in her despair Holly listened in amazement as a shaky voice spoke up from somewhere in the car.  “Anyone need some chocolate?” it said.  “I’ve a spare piece.”  How could anyone think of eating, let alone talk at a time like this?  
          “Is it sugar free?” asked a hopeful female voice.  Holly remembered that chocolate was supposed to help after a visit from a dementor.  She pulled out her own piece while listening to the conversation on the other side of her bench.  
          “No, sorry,” said the voice.  Holly’s trembling fingers fumbled with the wrapping paper.  
          “Oh,” came her dejected voice.  “I guess I’ll have to make do.”  
          “I’ve some you can share,” came another female voice.  It was the voice of a younger woman.  Holly managed to get the paper off her own chocolate.  “Here!” said the voice while Holly took a bite of her chocolate.  The soothing warmth was almost instantaneous.  Holly immediately felt much better.  
          “Thanks,” came a grateful reply.  “My doctor says I have to cut down on my sweets no matter how many times I feel the Gloom.  Say, this is pretty good.”  
          “I know,” came the voice. “I like it too.  It’s one of the new brands they just came out with.”  
          “Could I have a bit of that chocolate?” came a new female voice,  “It’s for my daughter. I already gave her some chocolate,” she added in a worried tone, “but I don’t think it did any good; she doesn’t seem to be snapping out of it.”  There was a rustle of noise as passengers changed locations.   
          Her own depression momentarily forgotten, Holly slipped off her invisibility cloak.  She immediately felt all sorts of worry and concern in the car.  There were seventeen other people in the car.  One barely there; it had the emotion of a very young girl feeling horribly depressed—worse than Albus who had wanted to die when he realized his dad was dead.  
          “She doesn’t look very good,” agreed another voice.  Holly recognized the voice as the woman who had wanted sugar-free chocolate.  “What did you give her?”  
          “Pediatric Chocolate,” replied the mother.  
          “That’s your problem,” replied the “Sugar-free” lady.  “Those medicated chocolates have too many vitamins and minerals.  They only work with a mild neighborhood Gloom—not the kind we get on the Rail.  You need to stick with straight chocolate, the darker the better,” she added with confidence.  “Come on, sweetie,” “Sugar-free” crooned.  “Just a little bite?  You’ll feel much better afterwards.  I promise.”  
          “Usually she bounces right back afterwards,” said the mother anxiously, “but we’ve had so much Gloom today…”  
          “You could be right,” observed another male voice.  Holly matched a number of aches and pains to the voice.  It was obviously an older man.  “It looks like she’s too sad to eat.”  
          “What’ll we do?” asked the mother worriedly.  
          “There’s no point in stopping the train,” said the man who had the extra chocolate.  “There’s no hospital nearby.  Maybe there’s a doctor in one of the other cars…”   
          “Come on, baby,” the mother pleaded.  “You can do it, take another bite.”  Holly longed to help but all she knew about dementors was eating chocolate afterwards; she didn’t know what to do if the chocolate didn’t work.  
          Then the old man said something to do with blue birds and Dover; it didn’t make any sense and the rest of his words were drowned out by the rumble of the train…  
          “What are you doing?” asked the younger lady who had had the extra sugar-free chocolate.  
          “Singing,” replied the man.  “It’s something me mum used to sing to me when the bombs were dropping all around. Your little one can still hear; the song used to make me feel better.  Maybe it’ll make her feel better too.”  He began to sing again, louder this time.  The melody was unfamiliar but lovely; this time Holly could understand the words.  _“There’ll be bluebirds over the White Cliffs of Dover, tomorrow, just you wait and see.”_   He continued, _“There’ll be love and laughter and peace ever-after, tomorrow, when the world is free.”_  
          “You mustn’t sing things like that,” said “Sugar-free” fearfully.  “They’ll take you away for sure!”  
          “Why?’ said the old man disarmingly.  “It’s only a song, an old song.  There’s no war and no more Nazis—”  
          “No,” agreed the man with the extra candy warily.  He didn’t really believe that.  The Nazis just had another name…  
          “And if it’ll help the little girl,” continued the old man, “why not?”  He began to sing again.  _“There’ll be bluebirds over the White Cliffs of Dover, tomorrow, just you wait and see.”_    
          The mother joined in singing with him, _“There’ll be love and laughter and peace ever-after, tomorrow, when the world is free.”_  
          The mother stopped singing but the old man continued.  _“The shepherd will tend the sheep, the valley will bloom again and Jimmy will go to sleep in his own little room again.”_    
          At this point some of the other passengers joined in as well.  It was clear they were familiar with the song even though they might not sing it.  _“There’ll be bluebirds over the White Cliffs of Dover tomorrow, just you wait and see.”_  
          “Look!” said Sugar Free excitedly.  “She’s stirring!  
          “Come on, baby,” said the mother with renewed enthusiasm, “Eat some chocolate.”  Holly suddenly felt warmth spread throughout the little girl’s body.  “That’s it!” said the mother excitedly and Holly could feel a surge of relief from her.  The feeling of relief spread throughout the car.  
          “I hear there’s less Gloom in the country,” commented the kindly voice of a woman from the other side of the car.  
          “Yes, I’d heard that too,” said the mother, “That’s why we’re visiting my aunt in Tunstall.  It’s near Woodbridge in Suffolk.  She says they hardly ever get the Gloom there.  I’m hoping the change in scenery will help my Kelly.”  
          “Kelly, now is it?” asked the old man.  “What pretty blue eyes you have.  Are you feeling better?”  There was a pause then the old man said, “That’s good.  You mustn’t let the Gloom get you down,” he told her, “It can’t hurt you unless you let it.”  There was another pause then the man asked, “What’d she say?”  
          “She says she’d like to hear about Dover again,” replied the mother.  “Would you?” she asked the man.  “I’m afraid I don’t know all the words…”  
          “I don’t mind,” replied the old man, “but I’ll need some help…” and he started to sing again. _“There’ll be bluebirds over the White Cliffs of Dover…”_  
          The mother sang with him and soon most of the other passengers in the car sang along too.  
          Listening, Holly realized the people probably knew the news was filled with lies and all was not as reported.  They knew, but could do little about it—not against wizards.  Still, they found small ways to resist and live with dignity.  The passengers sang the song several times for Kelly.  Holly leaned back against the wall of the car and listened to every word of the song.  She let the simple melody fill her mind and felt the quiet courage of the passengers surrounding her, their courage becoming her own.  
          Vernon wasn’t dead yet, Ravindra had said so, and who should know better than her?  There was still Dumbledore’s key and whatever lay within the vault.  All was not lost.  As long as Holly kept on trying, there was still a chance.

*********************

          The train slowed to a stop at the London station.  Holly waited until the passengers in the car gathered their things, got up and left.  Then she pulled on her sweatshirt, tucked her invisible cloak away and cautiously stood up behind the seat.  Seeing no one around she began to make her own exit.  Once she reached the car opening, Holly immediately scanned for the Wizards she expected at the station.  Where were they, what were they thinking?  She found three Wizard emotions at the station.  One seemed familiar somehow…  Holly looked over towards the familiar emotion and up into the eyes of Roland!!!   
          Holly’s excitement at finding someone she knew died almost instantly for Roland stood next to a red door and wore the familiar red and black of Security!  For a moment, Holly stared at him in terror before recovering her senses and retreating back into the car where she was hidden.  Holly immediately drew out her invisibility cloak and pulled it over her head.  She leaned against the side of the car her heart racing wildly.   
          Roland had recognized her!  She knew it!  Holly had felt his elation when their eyes met.  Roland had been an upper-class student at Hogwarts; they had been friends.  But the Roland of this world shouldn’t have known Holly!  There was only one way Roland could have recognized her here—from that awful photo Security had been showing on the news!    Roland was in a Security uniform.  He had recognized her and would no doubt tell the others!  Holly blinked back the tears she felt—to be turned in by Roland!  Roland was a Hufflepuff!  He had been Holly’s tutor her first year at Hogwarts and had taught her how to do Wizard Duels her second.  How could he betray her and turn her in?  The thought was too horrible to bear!  
          Holly cautiously slid the cloak off her head keeping the rest of her body covered.  Were the Wizards already on the train?  Perhaps she could find some way to slip off while they were coming on…   But there were no Wizards on the train that she could tell.   
          Holly moved as close to the entrance as she dared.  Where were the Wizards now?  To her surprise, they hadn't moved!  Keeping hidden, Holly focused and scanned their emotions again.  Roland was worried and upset.  The Security guard next to him was—bored!!!  The Wizard Security guard holding open the gate letting passengers through was also bored!!!  That could only mean Roland hadn’t said anything to them!   Holly couldn’t understand why but she had to take advantage of the situation while she could.  She hastily drew the invisibility cloak back over her body and stood up.  Then Holly quickly jumped off the train trusting that the noise of the engine would cover any sound she might make.   
          She hurried to join the other passengers and slipped through the gate.  Holly watched the Wizard anxiously as she passed; to her horror, saw him turn and stare directly at her!   Not only that, but his look was expectant, like he was waiting for her!  Panicked, Holly froze in place!  How could he have known?  Suddenly, a low growl sounded behind her.  Holly whirled to see a guard dog and Security Officer coming right at her!  She hurriedly moved forward out of the dog’s way!  The dog continued to growl while changing his direction moving towards Holly. He tugged at his leash but the Security Guard hastily pulled the dog back no doubt thinking it was growling at the Wizard.  The guard and dog passed the Wizard and went through the gate.  
          Adrenaline flooded through Holly at the detection by the dog.  That had been too close for comfort!  Breathing rapidly Holly hastily made her way to the nearest wall away from all the people.  Pausing to catch her breath Holly turned her back against the wall and surveyed the situation from a place of relative safety.  She watched the Security Officer and dog board the train.  She saw the two move slowly from one car to the next and the next and the next.   Meanwhile, the Wizard suspiciously eyed the passengers lined up to board the train.  After a while, the Security Guard and dog reappeared.  He gave a nod to the Wizard and the Wizard turned to inspect the train tickets of the first passenger waiting to board.  Venturing a glance at Roland, Holly saw he was still watching the train car with a worried frown on his face.   
          Holly turned her attention to the rest of the station.  The Security Official with the dog moved back through the gate and over to the line of people waiting to buy tickets.  Another stood at the entrance of the station.  A third Security Official stood off in one corner watching all the passengers both those coming and going.  Though alert, none of the three seemed to display any unusual expressions of anticipation; they didn’t look like they were expecting anyone in particular.  Holly looked again at Roland. He was still frowning and staring intently at the train but occasionally he glanced around the whole station before returning his gaze at the train.  Wizard Pilkington had seemed fairly nice although he was working in Security.  Perhaps Roland was still nice on the inside, too.  Maybe that was why he hadn’t turned her in.  Maybe there was some other reason...   
          Holly considered slipping into the loo to take off her invisibility cloak, but decided it was too risky.  Though Roland’s eyes were focused mainly on the train, she couldn’t risk him glancing the other way at the wrong time and seeing her again.  She didn’t know why he hadn’t turned her in but didn’t want to give him a second opportunity to see her and possibly call attention to her presence to the others.   
          Holly waited until the Security Official with the dog made a walk around the passengers buying tickets.  Then she began to move cautiously forward.  She had decided the entrance gate was wide enough she could slip past that guard without his detecting her presence.  Step by step she carefully walked all the while looking both in front and behind to make sure no one accidentally bumped into her as she moved.  
          About halfway to the entrance Holly noticed a rather large flat box sitting on the ground to one side of the Security Guard.  It was prominently labeled “Lost and Found.”  Within that box was a single brown paper bag.  It looked like a common lunch bag.  Written plainly on the bag in large thick black ink were the letters “YCLF.”  
          “YCLF,” thought Holly as she walked.  “What a strange name.  However did one pronounce a name like that?  YCK—Lefff?  YuKCuL—fff?   Y-CLFF?  WYCLIFF!!!”  Holly froze in mid-step!  Had she just read the word Wycliff?  Holly stared at the bag in disbelief!  It couldn’t be!  No one knew her name here!  No, that wasn’t right.  Holly had told her name to one person—and he hadn’t believed her.  But that was the same person Holly had told she wanted to get to London.  Here she was in London, and here it was.  Could the bag be meant for her?  
          A heavy cough sounded loudly in Holly’s ear bringing Holly to her senses.  She scurried to one side in time to avoid being bumped into by a heavyset middle-aged man walking up swiftly behind her.  Holly returned her attention to the bag.  Besides the letters, she saw a small green blotch on it. Holly moved cautiously closer.  There was no mistaking the spiky points of a green holly leaf crudely drawn over the letters.  This bag was definitely intended for Holly!  But why?  Was it a trap?  
          Holly sat down against the wall next to the bag.  She had to think this thing through, decide what to do…  She glanced warily over at Roland as she pondered the situation.  Roland was looking her way with that frown on his face—then his gaze returned to the train cars.  
          Wizard Pilkington had been sincere when he told Holly he wanted to help her, yet he had stood aside and done nothing when Wizard Flint hauled her off to Azkaban Prison.  Of course, Holly had no idea what he _could_ have done to help her at that point.   
          Wizard Pilkington surely knew Holly had escaped; wouldn’t he have told them everything he had learned about her in order to assist in her recapture—except—the Muggle news alerts had not mentioned Holly by name or that she might be headed for London.  For that matter, the people at Wizard Security did not seem to know either or the ones in London would have been more watchful looking for her.  That would imply Wizard Pilkington had not told the other Wizards what she had said to him.  Was that possible?   
          Holly thought about her conversation with Wizard Pilkington.  He had assured Holly he wouldn’t pass on anything she said unless—how had he put it?  Oh yes— _unless a superior directly asked him to relate it._   Wizard Pilkington had spoken truly when he said it and Holly had thought it a rather weird wording at the time.  Maybe his words were more significant than she had thought.   
          Judging from the way he had given orders after barging in to take Holly, Wizard Flint, despite his youth, was clearly Wizard Pilkington’s “superior.”  While Wizard Pilkington had been totally respectful in appearance, Holly knew he had not liked Wizard Flint.  Nor did she, for that matter.  After her escape, would Wizard Flint "directly" ask Wizard Pilkington for more information?  Probably not.  Wizard Flint was too sure of himself to think Wizard Pilkington might know more than he.  Holly could easily understand why Wizard Pilkington would not voluntarily give Wizard Flint any helpful information.  Perhaps that explained why no one else seemed to know she was headed towards London.  
          Wait a minute!  Wizard Pilkington _must_ have told someone because someone else _knew!_   Someone _had_ been at the London station watching for her!  Roland had recognized Holly immediately!  There had been no surprise at her arrival; he had been expecting it!  Not only that, there had been no uncertainty in his recognition either despite the change in hair colour!!!  Wizard Pilkington must have told him about her hair!  He had to have known Holly had blonde hair!  The Leila Pilkington Holly knew was a Ravenclaw; Holly was sure her dad was a Ravenclaw too, or would have been were there such a thing.  He had surely noticed the brown shoe polish as Ravindra had done and recognized what it meant.  But why tell Roland?  Roland was younger than Wizard Pilkington.  Despite the uniform, Roland’s emotions were not that of a Slytherin, which made him a "Non."  There was no way Roland could be a “superior” to Wizard Pilkington so why had Wizard Pilkington confided in Roland?  
          Holly sighed; she wished she knew more of how the Wizard world worked here.  She looked up at Roland.  His eyes were again looking towards her—no, not at her—she was still wearing her invisibility cloak.  Roland’s eyes were fixed on the bag in the box next to her!  _He knew about the bag!_   _“Of course!”_ Holly thought jubilantly.  Wizard Pilkington needed someone to bring the bag!  That could explain Roland’s silence, too.  Holly leaned back pleased with her conclusion, happy to think Roland might not be the enemy even though he wore a Security uniform.   
          But it was still only a guess.  Holly watched Roland carefully.  When his eyes flicked back to the train car Holly quietly scooted herself to the edge of the Lost and Found box.  Then she looked around to see if anyone else was watching.  When all seemed clear, Holly cautiously poked her hand out of the invisibility cloak.  She quickly plucked the lettered paper bag out of the box and swiftly drew it back beneath her cloak where it would be invisible too.  Nothing happened; no one seemed to have noticed what she had done.  Holly leaned against the wall; she watched and waited.  
          After a while, Roland’s eyes again returned to the bag, or rather, the box where the bag had been.  If possible his frown deepened.  His head turned back and forth and he looked all around intently.  His features were creased in disappointment.  More importantly, Roland did not talk to the wizard standing next to him!  Holly remained seated besides the box until Roland finally returned his gaze to the train.  Then Holly quietly stood up and carefully walked towards the exit.  She longed to stay and try to talk to Roland, but not with a Slytherin nearby.  Besides, she wanted to find out what was in the bag and that could not be done safely in the station.   
          Once outside, Holly ducked around a corner and removed her invisible cloak.  Again she could feel the emotions around her.  Her awakened senses felt like a breath of fresh air.  She could sense no other Wizards and no eager anticipation of someone lying in wait.  Relieved, Holly carefully tucked her cloak underneath her pink t-shirt.  Next, she stuffed the paper bag under her blue sweatshirt just in case someone else was watching for it.  Though the bag was small, it was a bit heavy and rather bulky but by clamping her left arm to her side Holly was able to keep the bag secure preventing it from sliding out from under her sweatshirt. Then she joined the other passengers leaving the station.  Following the example of the others, Holly kept her head down as she shuffled past the Security Officer with the guard dog and though the outer gate. 

*********************

          Holly followed the other passengers walking down the sidewalk keeping careful pace with their speed.  She breathed a major sigh of relief when she rounded the first corner.  After another block, Holly left the main group and kept on walking turning frequently down one alley then another twisting and turning as Ravindra had taught her trying to keep out of the possible paths of flying Security.  She saw a few Security officials flying across the more major streets but they never took her route and were clearly not searching for anyone in particular.  Finally Holly found an empty alley she judged far enough away from the station and any Wizard eyes that might linger there.  
          Holly brushed aside the trash on the sidewalk before sitting besides a dirty blue dumpster.  Then she pulled out the bag.  It still looked and felt like an ordinary brown paper bag.  Grabbing it by the bottom fold on one side, Holly held the bag from her as far away as possible and gently tipped it over spilling out its contents.  She was fairly certain the bag and whatever it contained was harmless but it never hurt to be careful.  
          The first thing that slid out of the bag was a clear plastic bottle that Holly instantly recognized—water!  When Holly saw that she threw all caution aside dropping the bag on the sidewalk in her haste to get the bottle.  She eagerly picked up the water bottle, broke open the seal and unscrewed the cap. Then Holly took a long drink of water.  It had been ages since she had had a chance to take a proper drink of water.    
          Ravindra had warned Holly that the water in the washrooms got you sick if you drank it.  It was one of the measures instituted by Security as part of their effort to keep track of the homeless, a “breeding ground” they claimed, for terrorists and terrorist sympathizers.   
          Desperately thirsty one day, Ravindra had tried the tap water; she had afterwards lain hidden for three days in the closed side of a dumpster seized by horrible cramps before the effects of the water wore off.  Safe drinking water could be had for free at the shelters and the hospital—both places frequently inspected by Security.  Fountains bearing the Security insignia of a “V” also had safe drinking water; they were usually found in tourist locations and always within sight of Security patrols.  Ravindra suspected some of the residences on the outskirts of town with private water sources had safe drinking water also but those places were well guarded with walls and dogs.  Ravindra always kept an eye out for discarded water bottles with water still within to drink and otherwise pretty much drank rain and gutter water.  “Gutter water,” she told Holly, “tasted a lot like dirt and oil but had never made her sick.”  After Ravindra’s water stories Holly had been afraid to approach anything wet.  
          Holly leaned back against the dumpster with a happy sigh.  Never had a sip of water tasted so sweet.  Feeling much refreshed, she now curiously regarded the other item that slid out of the bag. It was fairly thick and wrapped in shiny brown paper.  Looking at it, Holly realized she recognized the paper as the same kind Wizard Pilkington had used to wrap Wizard Flint’s sandwich earlier that day…  _“FOOD?”_ thought Holly eagerly!  It had been ages since she had last eaten—before sunrise, to be exact.  A few small pieces of chocolate were no substitute for a real meal!   
          Holly picked up the wrapped item that she was now sure was a sandwich.  She found an edge of the paper and began ripping.  The warm scent of a fresh roast beef immediately filled the air.  “NO!” moaned Holly in dismay.  “Not that!”  
         The last time she had smelled roast beef had been in the Security Transport.  Holly had been strapped securely in the prisoner’s chair.  Wizard Flint had taken the opportunity to strike her several times as soon as the transport had taken off—he used some automatic transport feature so he did not have to navigate.  The force of his blows had been so hard that the transport itself had rattled back and forth after every swing.  “Just warming up!” Wizard Flint told Holly maliciously as he struck not even bothering to ask any questions.   
          Then the Wizard announced he was ready to eat lunch.  Actually he had hurt his wrist on that last blow but Holly was in no condition to correct him.  Her head was spinning and she couldn’t think, could barely breathe after all those blows.  Wizard Flint seated himself directly in front of Holly’s bleary eyes where she would have an unobstructed view and slowly began to unwrap the sandwich.  Despite her pain, Holly had felt immediate nausea the moment she caught scent of the roast beef.  She tried to pull away from the smell but couldn’t, being strapped in.   
          Next, she tried to tell the Wizard about being sick but he hadn’t understood her—not at first.  Then he hadn’t believed her and instead seized her chin holding it in place while he waved the sandwich right under her nose. “You’re not really sick, are you?” he taunted in a whisper.    
           “I am, I swear!” Holly managed to stammer amid the waves of nausea overcoming her.  
          Wizard Flint drew in closer so they were nose to nose/eye to eye.  “Wrong ans—”  That’s when Holly lost control and let loose emptying out the full contents of her stomach.  
          Once Wizard Flint got over his surprise and disgust his anger was indescribable!  Holly tried to apologize but it fell on deaf ears.  Without hesitation Wizard Flint caused the transport to stop, pulled out his wand and unstrapped Holly.  Then he physically dragged Holly from the chair and out the transport.  Holly was too frightened to struggle.   
          The fresh air outside the transport bought Holly back to her senses.  The bite had been a pure reflex action.  Holly had only been trying to distract the Wizard—to get him to loosen his painful grip on her arm.  Sheer panic lent strength to her legs when she swung that kick.  Holly knew Wizard Flint was about to do something to her, something awful, and was afraid she wouldn’t even _live_ to see Azkaban Prison.  Breaking the wand had been an afterthought—insurance that Wizard Flint wouldn’t kill her when he caught her.  Holly never expected that she might actually make good her escape…  
          Holly’s stomach rumbled loudly.  Smelling that roast beef brought back those awful memories of the Security Transport and feelings of terror but not, Holly suddenly discovered, a sense of nausea!  Not that there was anything left in her stomach, but that had never stopped the nausea before.  Was that possible?  Holly closed her eyes and lifted the sandwich tentatively to her lips.  Again she saw the fury in Wizard Flint’s face and felt her own terror.   
          “I’ll show you!” Wizard Flint had snarled as he lifted her out the chair!  Holly took a small bite…  “How dare you _puke_ on me!”  Wizard Flint spat angrily, his face contorted in pure malice.  Holly took another bite…  She again felt herself moving to the open door filled with conflicting emotions of her own fear and Flint’s desire for revenge.  And another bite—Holly could see Wizard Flint’s horrid face in her mind, dripping with vomit.  It would have been funny had she not been so scared.  Another bite:  she saw Wizard’s Flint’s blue eyes flashing angrily at her while he tried to wipe the vomit from his face…   
          Pure hunger kept Holly taking bite after bite of the sandwich.  With each bite Holly saw Wizard Flint’s angry face, and heard his threatening words again and again in her mind filling her with terror.  Before she realized it, the sandwich was gone and Holly’s growling stomach had quieted.  Holly took another drink of water as she considered the miracle that just occurred.  Certainly Wizard Flint’s face, as scary as it was, was much better than a planeload of burnt bodies, but would it work for food other than roast beef?  Holly didn’t know.  She’d worry about that later.  For the moment however, she was content to relax a bit and appreciate the sensation of her full stomach.  
          After a minute or two, Holly’s attention again returned to the bag.  Was there anything else in it that hadn’t fallen out?  She picked it up carefully and looked inside.  There was something stuck to the bottom of the bag.  Holly reached in and pulled it out.  It was a small piece of folded parchment paper.  She carefully unfolded the paper and found two ten-pound notes within.  They were cleaner than the one Ravindra had given her but still bore the distinctive “V” of the current currency and felt nasty to the touch.  Holly fingered the money thoughtfully before shoving it into her pocket for later use.   
          Then she shook out the bag looking for anything else she might have missed.  Finding nothing, Holly examined the parchment that had held the money looking for a message of any kind but saw none.  Certain there must be more Holly ripped open the bag and held it to the sky looking for hidden messages but saw only the holly leaf and cryptic “YCLF.”  Holly next reexamined the roast beef sandwich wrapper looking for anything else of interest.  Finding nothing else, Holly was forced to conclude the bag held no more secrets.   
          Disappointed, she crumpled the bag, wrapper and parchment together.  Then Holly stood and carefully buried the bundle beneath other trash in the dumpster.  Finishing the water, Holly tossed that bottle on the top of the trash.  Then she pulled out one of the ten-pound notes from her pocket.  Holly knew exactly what she wanted to do with it.  She left the alley and turned onto one of the busier streets.  Waving her ten-pound note in plain sight to show she could pay Holly flagged down a taxi cab... 


	14. Chapter 14

          Lieutenant Daniel Pilkington, Senior Detective, Wizard, Second Class, Apparated to the front steps of his house.  His workday was over and he was glad to get home to see his wife and family.  He reached out towards the front doorknob.  Then he lowered his hand and grasped the _invisible_ doorknob beneath it.  When he used the invisible doorknob, the door opened directly into his bedroom where he could change out of his work clothes.  Daniel hated the averted eyes and the glances of fear and revulsion he saw in his family’s eyes when he wore his uniform.  
          After entering his bedroom, Daniel changed swiftly out of his uniform. Truth be told, he didn’t particularly like his uniform either but it was a requirement of the job.  As one final act when he finished changing, Daniel removed his wedding band.  It was a plain gold band.  Daniel was glad they hadn’t been able to afford anything fancy; that made the band easier to transfigure.  He untwisted a knob in his bedpost and placed his wedding ring in the secret compartment within.  He kept his Ravenclaw class ring there too.  While not actually forbidden, items bearing obsolete House crests had a habit of getting stolen or broken after a Slytherin visit.  Terika knew about the compartment and the class ring.  Daniel never told her what else he kept there when not at work.  Daniel removed the Security Force pin from his uniform lapel.  Using his wand, Daniel transfigured the pin into the shape of his wedding band and placed the transfigured ring on his finger.  As the pin was also the Official Wizard Security Seal, Daniel kept it with him always.  
          Daniel checked his appearance one last time and then opened the bedroom door.  His wife Terika came forward swiftly to greet him.  She had been plainly watching for his arrival.  Terika was tall and slender.  Her dark auburn hair usually fell down over her shoulders in curly waves but today it was tied back with a plain blue kerchief.  She looked tired.  
          “Welcome home,” she said in her soft husky voice.  “How was your day?” she asked as a matter of habit.  
          “The usual,” replied Daniel never elaborating.  Terika knew to not ask for further information, as Daniel wouldn’t discuss work matters with her.  He hugged Terika briefly. “And yours?” he asked affectionately.  
          “Not bad,” she replied cheerfully.  “I resolved two cases this morning,” she added proudly hugging Daniel back.  
          “That’s great,” replied Daniel heartily.  Terika worked as a Non Solicitor having passed the Bar six years earlier.  
          “Then Wizard Flint came by looking for you and we had the Head Count...”   
          Daniel pulled back from Terika and looked her in the eyes.  “Any problems?” he asked with concern.  Slytherin visits were always stressful and Head Counts done while at home were worse than any done when in the office.  A team of New Death Eaters would barge into the house without warning and round up all the inhabitants to one location.  They would search the house for any contraband material and/or fugitives.  Once satisfied there was nothing else to find the New Death Eaters would force the Nons to take the potion one by one.  The adults were given it first.  It was humiliating to have your children watch you squirm helplessly in the New Death Eaters’ grip.  It was worse to have to watch the same done to your children.  
          “No,” said Terika shaking her head.  “Wizard Flint didn't stay long and we’re all fine.”  But Daniel could tell there was more so he waited.  “They gave Leila a double dose!” she finally blurted.  
          “No!” whispered Daniel aghast.  To have to go through that twice—and she was so young!  
          “She was crying so, begging me to make them stop—and I had to just stand there and watch!” she added breaking down in quiet sobs expressing the pain and frustration she had been feeling.  
          Daniel pulled her in close and hugged her even tighter.  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered futilely knowing words could not help, not really.   
          “It’s not your fault,” replied Terika looking up at him with tears glistening in her hazel eyes.  “You didn’t do this.”  Daniel nodded silently in agreement.  No Non had authority to call a Head Count.  Everyone knew that.  But it never helped that he wore the uniform of those that did.  The hardest part of his courtship had been Terika coming to terms with his employment at Wizard Security.  Intellectually, she understood why he had joined Wizard Security but emotionally, well, it was hardest on days like today.  The Slytherins in Security never gave any Non under their employment preferential treatment and often deliberately made things worse. 

 

********************

           Daniel had scarcely been married to Terika a couple months when the New Death Eaters had appeared silently at their door one morning.  Without a word they barged in, seized Terika by the arm and left Apparating with a loud ominous _“crack.”_   Daniel knew neither he nor Terika had broken any Wizard rules yet the New Death Eaters rarely did anything without a reason.  Unfortunately, the only logical reason Daniel could think of involved him.   
          So Daniel did the only thing he could think of to do—follow Security Rules and Regulations and comply with Wizard Law.  Security regulations specified that Security matters could only be discussed with qualified Superiors or other persons employed by Security; it also stated that business of a personal nature could not be conducted while on duty without the prior consent of a Superior.  Quaking with worry for Terika, Daniel barely arrived for work on time and acted as if nothing had happened.   
          His worst fears were confirmed when Wizard Crabbe appeared at his office and casually asked, “How are things?”  Wizard Crabbe had never before visited Daniel in his office nor once expressed an interest in Daniel’s life, private or otherwise.  Unwilling to describe what had happened to Wizard Crabbe yet fearing to lie Daniel had numbly responded, “Quiet.”  Wizard Crabbe had laughed knowingly at Daniel’s response and gave Daniel his first assignments for the day.  
          During his lunch break Daniel had gone to the front desk to make inquiries about Terika but had been coldly told to “come back during office hours.”  He tried again after his day had ended and was told the same thing.  When he got home Daniel tried to contact a Solicitor for help, several of them in fact (all Slytherins at the time.)  They refused to return his calls—it was “after hours.”  Friends contacted the Solicitors on Daniel’s behalf the next day and were told to “call back in three months to “schedule” an appointment.”  
          The next day, rather than use office time to make inquiries, Daniel applied for leave and/or time off citing “Personal reasons.”  His application was promptly denied and Daniel was handed yet more work to do.  Then Wizard Crabbe ordered Daniel to “clean his office but leave the desk alone.”  Lying on Wizard Crabbe’s desk in plain sight was a folder bearing Terika’s name.  It took all of Daniel’s willpower to not open that folder and see what it contained within.  
          The following day Daniel “overheard” two Slytherins laughing and joking about the “special” prisoner screaming and sobbing in the Holding Cell upstairs.  Daniel had no doubt to whom they referred.  He longed to race upstairs to see Terika.  Unfortunately, Daniel was forbidden access to the Holding Cells without an assigned case and he had no such case...  For ten agonizing days and ten lonely nightmarish nights Daniel continued his duties at work all the while worried he would never see Terika again.   
          On the eleventh day, a _Wizard Writ of Habeas Corpus_ arrived at the Security Station Front desk by special owl delivery.  Arriving well within business hours the _Writ_ was letter perfect and came complete with all the appropriate paperwork and fees.  It was duly filed.  Accompanying the _Writ_ was a properly worded, signed petition requesting the court to appoint a Wizard Solicitor on Terika’s behalf.  The petition was accompanied with enough funds to pay for the retention of said person.  The letter and _Writ_ was enough to initiate legal proceedings for Terika’s release.   
          The New Death Eaters let Terika go the next day depositing her at the front desk of the Security building late in the afternoon.  She made her way home alone rather than disturb Daniel during work, also against regulations.  Daniel hadn’t known she had been released and hadn’t bothered to change out of his uniform when he arrived home that night.  His relief at seeing her unharmed was unimaginable but Terika had instantly cringed in fear when she saw him enter the house…  The reunion went much better after Daniel changed out of his uniform.   
          Left with no other options and desperate for her release, Daniel told Terika how he had written Headmaster Snape for permission to do research at the Hogwarts library; it was the only wizard library that remained open after hours.  He could hardly believe his eyes when an owl arrived late that same night bearing a message granting his request.  While not a legal library, the Hogwarts library could request and receive the loan of outside material with approval of the Headmaster.   
          Daniel never actually saw Headmaster Snape during his visits to Hogwarts nor did the Headmaster ever formally inquire the purpose behind Daniel’s request to use the Hogwarts library but he had to have known.  The legal material Daniel requested was approved and sent to Hogwarts promptly.  Daniel then spent every waking hour after work researching Wizard rights and laws.  
          Terika told Daniel the New Death Eaters had grilled her unceasingly for the first two days concerning what she knew about Daniel’s work.  Annoyed but finally convinced Terika knew nothing, the New Death Eaters left her in the Holding Cell with a dementor and waited.  Daniel paled to think what might have happened had Terika actually known anything.   
          Early on, Wizard Crabbe paid Terika a visit.  He stroked her cheek gently commenting on how attractive she was.  Then he asked a question of his own.  “Did Pilkington have any other job skills?”  He said he hoped so for he would keep no Non under his employment who failed to follow the regulations and how could Daniel not break them for his lovely wife...  Terika spent her time longing to see Daniel and hoping he would be smart enough to not come.   
          The New Death Eaters made sure the Solicitors would not see Daniel or anyone on Daniel’s behalf.  When it became came clear Daniel would not break regulations, they taunted Terika.  “Pilkington has no spine,” they said.  “He has no loyalty, no love—not even for family!”   
          Much later Wizard Crabbe returned and promised Terika he’d get her out if she got a divorce.  “The New Death Eaters are patient,” he explained.  “They’ll never release you as long as you remain married to Pilkington!  They want to see how your absence affects him,” Wizard Prichard told her.  He then assured Terika he’d been watching Pilkington and was convinced Pilkington would never come for her.  “Pilkington has displayed not the least bit of concern over your absence,” Wizard Crabbe assured her.  “There is no point in remaining married to a man like that.”  Wizard Crabbe even offered to help Terika file the divorce papers from the Holding Cell citing “spousal abandonment” as cause.   
          The _Writ_ and Solicitor had come as a surprise, much to the dismay of the New Death Eaters; they placed bets on whether Daniel would choose to ruin his private or professional life first and how long it would take…   Faced with a Slytherin Solicitor holding a proper _Wizard Writ_ and while lacking actual cause to hold her, the New Death Eaters reluctantly released Terika.  
          Daniel held Terika tightly in his arms.  “I could have never survived had you gotten the divorce,” he told her while he lovingly stroked her hair.   
          “Me neither,” whispered Terika, happy to feel safe in his strong arms.  Then she told Daniel she was pregnant…

**_A conversation that happened somewhere deep inside the bowels of the Ministry of Magic ten years  
      earlier, one unknown to Wizard Pilkington:_ **

_A loud rapping sounded at the office door of Wizard Security head, Rabastan Lestrange.  “Enter,” commanded the voice within._  
_The tall cloaked figure of Severus Snape swept in coming to a stop in front of a shadowed desk.  “You wished to speak with me?”_  
_“You interfered,” accused Lestrange without any preamble.  He was seated at his desk.  A single candle illuminated the room casting eerie shadows on his gaunt face._  
_“I did no such thing,” replied Snape disdainfully.  “I do not meddle in the affairs of Wizard Security.”_  
_“Pilkington!” hissed Lestrange angrily._  
_Severus Snape pointed his wand causing a chair to draw forth.  He sat in it before replying.  “Pilkington asked for permission to use the Hogwarts library,” he began,  “Given the regular wizard library is closed before he gets off work I saw no reason to refuse.”_  
_“We had plans for him!”_  
_“Then you should have made your intentions more clear and informed me accordingly beforehand,” replied Snape sharply.  “Pilkington has no criminal record.  Why shouldn’t I grant his request?”_  
_“Pilkington is a Non who dares to work for Security!” spat Lestrange._  
_“So?” said Snape unimpressed.  “I understand he has done an excellent job filling out Security paperwork, which, as you know, can be quite tedious.  That should free your Slytherin Officials to pursue the more important matters of ferreting out traitors.  Or have they found all the traitors and have nothing more important to do with their time than harass obedient Nons?”_  
_“There are always more traitors!” snarled Lestrange._  
_“Of course there are,” agreed Snape smoothly.  “That’s why you’d think Security might have use for more Nons like Pilkington—to do the boring and dirty work.”_  
_Lestrange scowled at the suggestion._  
_“In addition,” Snape continued without pause, “I hear Pilkington gets the Non families to pay their fines and fees quickly without complaint keeping the holding cells clear and bringing the Ministry additional revenues.”  Snape leaned forward.  “Pilkington was a Ravenclaw,” he reflected informatively.  “Personally, I would prefer a mind like his be kept active in the Hogwarts library than brooding in an empty house contemplating mischief.  I thought your job was to … eliminate rebellion not ... create it.”_  
_“How dare you imply—”_  
_“I imply nothing,” replied Snape smoothly, “just making an observation.  If Pilkington can’t get her out legally he’ll put his mind to work looking for other ways...”  Snape leaned back in his seat, placed his fingertips together and continued thoughtfully.  “Didn’t Minister Malfoy just report in the Prophet that we are still a community ruled by laws?”_  
_Lestrange nodded reluctantly._  
_“Why don’t you let Pilkington have his pretty wife,” Snape suggested.  “She’ll keep him occupied after hours and her release will lend credence to Malfoy’s words…  But that is your business, not mine,” Snape added briskly while standing.  “If there is nothing else, I must get back to my duties at Hogwarts.”  Without waiting for a response, Severus Snape turned and swiftly left the room closing the door behind him._

**_Back to the present:_ **

          “Are the kids O.K?” asked Daniel bringing his thoughts back to the present.  
          “They will be,” replied Terika positively.   
          “Where are they?” asked Daniel looking about.  “I should go to them.”  
          “They’re resting in their bedrooms,” replied Terika.  “You can go to them later,” she suggested.  “You have company.”  She nodded significantly to the parlor.   
          Daniel’s eyes followed her glance.  He saw a tall slender young man with dark brown hair and blue-gray eyes standing anxiously in the parlor doorway.  “Uh, why don’t you go on and serve dinner without me,” he told Terika.  “This might take some time.”  Terika nodded and vanished into the kitchen.  
          “Roland!” greeted Daniel cheerfully coming towards the young man, “How are you?”  
          “I failed!” blurted Roland miserably not even bothering with preliminaries.  “I don’t think I’m cut out for Security!”  Roland DeWitt was one of the top Nons at Hogwarts.  When he announced his intention to join Wizard Security the Nons already working in Security banded together to help.  They regularly drilled Roland, quizzed him, and gave him extra tasks—whatever they thought would help Roland achieve success in his wishes.  Where the Slytherins told Nons “they couldn’t,” the Nons told each other “they could.”  As Roland was already assigned to the London station as an Intern doing observation, Daniel had asked him to keep an eye out for one other person…  
          Pulling out his wand Daniel waved it briefly and said, _“Muffeliato!”_   Daniel returned his wand to its place.  “Of course you haven’t failed,” he said positively as he led Roland back into the Parlor.  “Have a seat,” he suggested indicating a sofa corner while he moved a matching chair to a location across from it.  There was nothing against regulations to talk with an Intern about his work, but as it was Roland, the work in question was Security business.  Daniel wanted to impress upon Roland that such conversations must, at all times, be kept strictly confidential.   
          “Guard and station work involves constantly watching and looking for wanted Security fugitives,” he told Roland pulling out his wand and conjuring up a pot of tea and two cups and saucers.  “But actually spotting one particular person amongst the crowd is another matter.  Just because you haven’t spotted someone does not mean you’ve failed.  It may only mean that the person in question was never there to find in the first place.”  He poured the tea, handed a cup to Roland and poured another cup of tea for himself.  
          “But that’s just it!” said Roland in an agonized voice.  He set his cup down without even taking a sip and leaned forward in his seat.  “She was!”  
          “She was?” said Daniel blankly.  “Are you sure?”  It was logical to watch for Holly at the station and other entry points knowing she wanted to get to London.  Daniel had made the suggestion operating purely on a hunch but given there was a priority Wizard search under way for the girl and she had no wand the odds of her actually making it to London, especially so soon, were too small to calculate.  
          “She was!” insisted Roland positively.  “I’m sure of it.  She matched your description perfectly!”  
          “She did?” asked Daniel still trying to absorb this unexpected turn of events.   
          “Yes!” confirmed Roland.  “You said watch for a thirteen year old girl with blonde hair, and green eyes that looked a lot like the one in the Security Alert!  Except for the fact she had bangs and the hair was cut short, the girl I saw looked _exactly_ like the one in the Alerts!”  Roland stopped for a breath then added accusingly:  “You didn’t mention the bangs and the hair-cut.  Oh yes, she had on a blue, not gray, sweatshirt, too.”  
          Daniel coughed and set down his own cup of tea.  “Well,” he said dismissively trying to sound knowledgeable.  “One mustn’t make things too easy…”  Though thinking about it, a haircut and bangs would have helped change her appearance considerably though not enough to fool Roland.   Daniel wondered where she got the blue sweatshirt.  “But if you spotted her, you didn’t fail.”  
          “But I did!” insisted Roland.  
          “Explain.”  
          Roland took a deep breath and began.  “It was one of the evening trains from Aylesbury right before I was due to come off duty.  I was watching the passengers get off—especially the blondes.  The girl was the very last one to get off…”  
          “And?”  
          “Well, I saw the blonde hair first and was watching for her face when she looked up and straight at me!  I got a real good look at her face.”  Roland stopped and then added as an aside, “Usually no one ever looks at Security, not directly and not from across the room.  But she did!”  
          “Then what happened?”  
          “Her eyes got real wide and she backed up into the railcar again where I couldn’t see her!”  
          “What happened next?”  
          Roland shrugged helplessly.  “That’s it!”  
          “She stayed on the train?”  
          “She couldn’t have.  That stop is terminal,” Roland explained.  “Everyone has to get off so they can do a security check.  A Muggle Security Guard got on with a dog and he would have found her had she remained on the train.”  
          “So she got off?”  
          “She must have,” admitted Roland.  “But I never saw her!  I told you, she was last to get off!  _Nobody_ else got off the train after she went back into the car!  I swear!”  
          “Except the Muggle Security.”  
          “Yeah, except the Muggle Security,” agreed Roland, “and I saw him come on and off; it was the same guy.  I looked all over that station and I never saw her again!” Roland added in frustration.  
          “What do you think happened?”  
          “I don’t know,” mumbled Roland,  “I guess I must have missed her somehow!” he admitted shamefacedly.  “But I don’t know how.”  
          “Can you think of no other alternative?”  
          “If she were a witch, yeah,” replied Roland.  “Then she maybe used a chameleon spell or something to escape notice, but not a Muggle.  I shouldn’t have missed a Muggle!”  
          “And you know she’s a Muggle how?”  
          “Because she came from Aylesbury!” Roland said promptly.  “Security wants that other girl, the one in the Alert, real bad!  I overheard them talking in the London Station when I was signing out.  Apparently the Head Count turned up negative, though I don’t know how _that_ can be.  Anyway, they don’t know _who_ she is and that’s got them all upset!  They’ve called in the New Death Eaters and more dementors to help with the search.  All the exits are locked up tight with a Wizard posted to personally check each and every person trying to leave; anyone even remotely suspicious would have never even been let out of that town.  There’s no way a Witch could have boarded a train out of there!”  
          “That is pretty sound reasoning,” agreed Daniel picking up his cup again and taking a sip of tea.  His mind was working furiously trying to process the implications of this new information.  “Did anything else unusual or different happen after you saw the girl?”  
          “Um, no, not really,” replied Roland thoughtfully.  “The dog growled at Wizard Derrik but I don’t know whether that is unusual or not; I haven’t been to the London station all that much.  Beyond that, nothing.”  
          “Interesting,” said Daniel.  He stirred his tea with his spoon gently warming it while he considered the growling dog.  Wizard Derrik had worked at the London station for over three months and the Muggle Security dogs had been there for nearly four.  The dog should have recognized him.  “Where was Wizard Derrik when this happened?”  
          “He was standing at the gate ready to check the passengers boarding the next train.”  
          “And where was the dog when this happened—on Wizard Derrik’s right or left?”  
          Roland frowned as he thought.  “On the right, as regulation dictates,” he answered.  “That way the opened gate is protected on both sides.”  
          “And the passengers had finished going through the gate?”  
          “Of course,” replied Roland impatiently.  “The passengers exited through the gate, then the Muggle Security guard and his dog came up to check for explosives.  It was a little thing really, the dog growled and the Muggle Guard pulled him back.  That’s all.”  
          “Oh,” said Daniel dismissively.  He took another sip of tea and then set the cup down.  “What about the bag?” he asked changing the subject.  
          Roland looked down.  “I failed there too!” he admitted reluctantly.  
          “What do you mean?”  
          “Well, in between watching the passengers come off the trains I was watching the bag.  But it wasn’t good enough.  One minute the bag was there, and the next it was gone, just gone!”  
          “Did you see it vanish?”  
          “No, sir,” Roland confessed.  “I was still looking for the girl from the train, too.”  
          “So someone could have taken it while you were not looking?”  
          “I suppose,” he admitted reluctantly, “but I was scanning the whole station constantly.  My eyes were never off the bag for long.  I swear there wasn’t anyone even remotely near when I looked away or after I noticed the bag was gone!”  Roland picked up his cup, took a sip of tea and then set the cup down.  “That’s why I know I’m not cut out for this.  Two simple assignments and I failed at both!”  
          Daniel took a deep breath and thought quickly.  Roland was really depressed.  That was not good.  They needed more Nons in Security.  How could he fix this without explaining anything?  “You assume,” he began slowly while choosing his words carefully, “that you were intended to succeed in this assignment.”  Roland’s head came up with interest.  “You cannot guarantee success in every assignment,” continued Daniel more confidently.  “How you deal with failure is equally important.  When you get home today, I want you to review what happened in your mind and then come up with other ways you might have handled this assignment differently to have achieved success.  Assume you have both limited and unlimited resources.  Be prepared to discuss them with me when we next meet.”  
          “Yes, sir,” said Roland promptly.  A bit of hope sparked in his eyes and he held his head up straighter.  “Uh, sir,” began Roland tentatively.  
          “Yes?”  
          “How’d she do it—or you do it—or, you know…?”  
          “Ah,” replied Daniel trying to sound more knowledgeable than he felt.  “You should ponder that question as well.  Be prepared with possible scenarios for it, too.”  
          “Yes, sir.”  
          “Is there anything else?”  
          “No sir, not really.”  
          “Not really?” Daniel glanced keenly at Roland’s face but Roland looked down and away from him.  Something else was clearly bothering him.  
          “Roland?” insisted Daniel.  “What is it?”  
          “Um,” he fidgeted a bit looking very uncomfortable.  “Is it true?” he finally blurted out.  
          “Is what true?”  
          “That you’re a Slytherin wannabe?”  
          Daniel raised an eyebrow.  “Wherever did you hear that?”  
          “Today,” confessed Roland.  “I saw Richards when I was signing out.  He told me that he’d been on assignment with you and you were definitely a Slytherin wannabe and that I must be too since I wanted to join Security!”  
          “And you believed him?”  
          “Well no, not really, but it’s been different since I started working in Security.  My friends, they don’t treat me the same and when I put on that uniform, well, nobody else treats me the same either.”  
          “Do you think I’m a wannabe?”  
          “I, ah, I don’t know what to think!” replied Roland in frustration.  “Everyone has always said you’re great even if you do work for Security so I’ve never thought about it before.  But Richards, he sounded so sure, so convincing!”  
          Daniel sighed.  Richards could easily interpret Daniel’s behavior in the Muggle station that way and would be happy to share his interpretation, especially as he couldn’t talk about what else he had seen.  Daniel knew it would be helpful to explain his actions to Roland, but of course, he couldn’t.  And it _was_ different when he put on his uniform.  “Roland,” Daniel began.  “There is no such thing as a Slytherin wannabe.  That is just a term the Slytherins came up with to explain why any Non would ever join Security.  If I wanted to be a Slytherin I would be a Slytherin.”  
          “But he said—”             
          “Remember our House motto?” asked Daniel and he began to recite it: _“We help the Slytherins when they order it and each other—”_  
_“—whenever we can,”_ finished Roland automatically.  
          “Working in Security is very difficult and not just anyone can do it but that does not mean that those who do are no longer Nons.  I’m a Non and I work in Security because I can and because it _helps_ us.  Just how fast do you think a Slytherin would process the paperwork to release a Non in custody?  Would you trust a Slytherin to deposit the fees without taking a bit off the top for himself?  And which one of your Slytherin Superiors would take the time to locate and notify the parents when a Runner is brought in?  Let Richards think what he will; you just keep on helping whenever you can,” concluded Daniel.  “And if you can work in Security you can help make it much better for all of us.”  
          Roland straightened and that uncertain look vanished from his face.  “Yes sir, thank you,” he told Daniel.  
          “Good,” said Daniel.  “Now, is there anything else?” he asked.  
          “Not really, sir,” said Roland, “but there is something I was wondering about…”  
          “Oh?”  
          “That other girl, sir, the one they’re hunting…”  
          “Yes?”  
          “Well there’s something all wrong about her Alert!”  
          “Is there?” asked Daniel cautiously.  
          “Yes,” replied Roland speaking swiftly now.  “I thought Alert Photos never showed a Wizard or Witch while in a polyjuice disguise…”  
          “They don’t.”  
          “But that girl!  She should be going to Hogwarts; it’s required!”  
          “It is,” agreed Daniel, “and the Alert says she does.”  
          “But that’s just it!” burst out Roland.  “She doesn’t!”  
          “She doesn’t?” replied Daniel keeping his voice calm though his heart was racing wildly.  “Are you sure?”  Richards and Crowley were Slytherins; they could have been mistaken, but Roland, never.  He lived with the Nons at Hogwarts and would know them all.  
          “Of course I’m sure,” replied Roland confidently. “I know every Non attending Hogwarts and she isn’t one of them!”  
          “Interesting,” said Daniel keeping all expression out of his voice.  How did a girl admittedly attend Hogwarts for two years with no one ever seeing her?  “Have you mentioned this to anyone?”  
          “Well, no, but shouldn’t we tell someone?”  
          “Have you been questioned about whether or not she attends Hogwarts?”  
          “No, but—”  
          “Then you should keep your observations to yourself.  It is not your job to correct the Alerts.  That would be the same as correcting the Wizard who ordered it as only Slytherins may order an Alert.  Your duty is to obey, not question or correct, the orders of your Superiors.”  
          “Even if it’s wrong?”  
          “No Alert or report is ever considered “wrong” unless it has been declared such by a Superior,” corrected Daniel smoothly.  “No doubt the Wizard who ordered this Alert has his reasons for wording it this way.  If not, I’m sure some bright Slytherin Intern will point out the inconsistency and the Alert will be corrected accordingly.”  
          “Yes, sir, but what if someone asks me?”  
          “If it is a Superior, tell the truth, of course,” replied Daniel.  “That is what we have been trained to do.”  
          “But—”  
          “Remember our motto?” interrupted Daniel.  Roland nodded.  “Then stick to it at all times.  Being employed by Wizard Security does not mean we should loose sight of our values.  _Never_ volunteer anything, especially information.  Volunteering information would assist Slytherins in some way without an order.  Even if you don’t recognize her, Roland,” Daniel added, “the girl is also a “Non” and our motto applies to her too.  If the Alert is inaccurate, perhaps that inaccuracy will help her in some way.  When the Slytherins want our assistance in apprehending her, they will order us accordingly at which time we shall obey.”  
          “Yes, sir,” said Roland solemnly.  He stood up.  
          “If that’s everything,” began Daniel standing up also.  “Can I offer you some dinner?  I’m sure Terika has kept something warm for us.”  
          “Uh, no thank you, sir,” replied Roland.  “I’d best be getting going.  My family will be getting worried.”  He started walking towards the door.  
          “Of course,” said Daniel walking with him.  
          “Uh, Mr. Pilkington?” said Roland when he reached the door.  
          “Yes?”  
          “Do you think it’s possible to fake a Muggle Mark?”  
          “A Muggle Mark?  I don’t know,” replied Daniel thoughtfully.  If possible, such a thing would explain a lot concerning a green-eyed girl with blonde hair...  Out loud he said, “I’ve been told that a Muggle Mark cannot be removed, but I’ve never heard of anyone trying to make one.  Assuming one knew about the Mark in the first place,” he added in a casual tone.  Muggle Marks were known to Security Officials, but otherwise were kept strictly secret even among Wizards, “Why would anyone want to be a Muggle?  The Slytherins tell us that there are few things worse than being a Muggle.”  
          “I know, sir,” began Roland, “ but I was thinking that—”  
          “Perhaps you should keep those thoughts to yourself,” interrupted Daniel before Roland could continue further.   Roland looked hurt at being cut off so Daniel added softly.  “It’s very dangerous to inquire too deeply unless ordered.  You may learn something you regret—something you might be _required_ to tell a Superior.”  Daniel paused to let that sink in before continuing.  “It is very difficult for us to help a person in the custody of Security,” he began quietly.  “It is more difficult to help someone who is not.”   
          “Sir?” queried Roland,  “I don’t understand.  Richards says that I’ve become a stoolie by signing up for Security and even Colonel Pucey says if I don’t report every criminal and infraction I see I’ll get fired or worse!  I didn’t think we could help anyone who was not already in custody.”  
          “Colonel Pucey is correct in that should you recognize a fugitive or see an illegal activity, whether or not you are on duty, you are _required_ to immediately notify a Slytherin,” replied Daniel.  “In addition, all Nons working in Security must undergo regular interrogations to confirm this requirement has been followed but that does not make you a stoolie.  First of all, you are still a student and those rules don’t apply at Hogwarts.  Headmaster Snape does not need your assistance in maintaining discipline at Hogwarts.  All your friends know you signed up for Security and what that means,” continued Daniel.  “They’ll make sure you see and hear nothing that would get either you or them in trouble.”  
          “And after Hogwarts?” inquired Roland.  “What then?”  
          “We follow the rules, of course,” replied Daniel smoothly, “and keep to our motto.”  
          “Oh,” said Roland in a rather sorrowful tone.  
          That news didn’t seem to cheer Roland up much.  Daniel noted Roland’s depressed look and continued to talk.  “Regulations require you to report only that with which you know with _absolute_ certainty,” reminded Daniel in an instructional voice.  “The Alert photos and descriptions are intended to keep us from making mistakes and you must assume this information is correct at all times.  If a person doesn’t match the description on the Alert and you are unable make a _positive_ identification then you must keep your thoughts to yourself.”  
          Roland froze sensing there was more to Daniel’s words than their surface meaning.  “You mean,” he asked slowly, “if the Alert describes a fugitive with long hair and I see someone otherwise matching the description but with short hair I _can’t_ report it?”  
          “Unless you are positive, without a doubt, they are one and the same person you cannot for that would be guessing.” confirmed Daniel.  “A “guess” is not sufficient reason to bother a Superior.  Nor can you investigate your suspicions further without a specific order to do so.”  It was a small distinction, but important.  Daniel faithfully reported all infractions but by separating “guesses” from “certainty” he had stood by quietly numerous times and let those he strongly “suspected” of being wizard fugitives elude Slytherin scrutiny.  
          “But the fugitive may be in a disguise!” protested Roland.  
          “This is true,” agreed Daniel, “but we have been taught that Slytherins are our “superiors” in every way.  By definition, they are more than capable of recognizing a fugitive in disguise.  While you may not act on a mere "suspicion," no such regulations exist to restrict your Slytherin Superiors.  If they take no action against someone about whom you have suspicions, then you were wise to say nothing; your suspicions were probably wrong or your Superior has other plans about which you know nothing that involve letting a particular fugitive temporarily go free.”  Daniel paused to let Roland think that over.  Daniel could never a suggest Slytherins were capable of making mistakes but he didn’t have to.  Roland knew that already from his experiences in Hogwarts.  And Roland was smart.  He could read between the lines and draw his own conclusions.  
          “No doubt there is a good reason for writing the regulations this way,” Daniel added innocently, “but I have never inquired.  It would be improper for me to question the actions of my Superiors.”  Daniel took a breath and reached out for the doorknob.  As he did he looked directly at Roland and inquired, “Does that help?”  
          Roland frowned for a moment.  Then he took a deep breath and seemed to stand straighter. “Yes, sir, I think it does,” he replied nodding his head.  
          “Good,” replied Daniel.  “Now, I’d best let you go before your parents get too worried.”  He opened the front door for Roland.  
          “Of course, sir,” said Roland as he stepped out the door.  “Uh, sir?”  
          “Yes?”  
          “It was a foolish idea about making Muggle Marks.   
          “Was it?”  
          “Of course!  Why would anyone wish to be Muggle?”  
          “A very good point,” agreed Daniel.  If there _were_ a way to fake a Muggle Mark and actual Witches and Wizards were using such a method Daniel wanted to know nothing about it.  “And I would never assign you to watch for a person I _positively_ knew to be a fugitive,” he added.  “It was only a training assignment.  Any resemblance of the girl you saw to the one in the Security Alerts must be purely coincidental.  The hair and clothing are wrong and, as you said, security is tight in Aylesbury so the people coming out of Aylesbury could only be Muggles.”  
          Roland nodded in agreement. “Of course, sir,” he replied solemnly stepping through the entrance.  He turned one more time to look at Daniel with a rather cheerful glint in his eyes.  “Thank you, sir.”  
          “You’re welcome,” replied Daniel.  “I’ll call on you tomorrow to hear the self-assessment of your performance today.  
          “Yes, sir,” said Roland confidently and he Apparated with a loud _“crack!”_

 

********************

          As Daniel shut the door, he felt a gentle buzz against his leg.  Checking to see that his _Muffeliato_ spell was still working, Daniel returned to the parlor where he could insure privacy.  Once inside the parlor Daniel glanced about double-checking to make sure no one was near before pulling out the small Muggle cell phone in his pocket.  It was Cedric Diggory’s phone.  Daniel didn’t own one.  He worked too closely with the Slytherins to be carrying that kind of Muggle technology around on a regular basis.  Daniel had removed Cedric’s phone from Cedric’s overcoat pocket before leaving for home.  With their attention focused on the green-eyed girl, Daniel knew there would be no bored Slytherins to lead Cedric around.  Cedric wouldn’t need the phone while with his family and Daniel would place the phone back in Cedric’s coat pocket when he returned to work.  
          Daniel checked the phone and noted the number calling.  It was not familiar and there was no corresponding name.  That was not surprising as names were dangerous to list and cell phone numbers were changed frequently to help maintain unanimity.  Daniel put the phone to his ear.  “Report?” he asked softly.  
          “We got a survey call,” said a whispery voice on the other end.  No names were given and none would be mentioned but Daniel had a good idea who was on the other end.  He was pretty good with voices.  Daniel had been expecting a phone call ever since Roland said the bag had vanished.   
          Roland had not met the fugitive girl who called herself Holly, so could not be expected to connect her with the blonde who had exited the train.  That was not the case with Daniel.  Daniel would know her no matter what her hair colour.  Roland’s identification coupled with what Daniel already knew about the girl convinced Daniel that the two were one and the same.   
          But Roland was only a Non Intern and considered an unreliable witness in Slytherin eyes.  Also, there were enough differences in Roland’s description and that of the Alert to make a positive identification on Daniel’s part impossible without personally seeing the girl in question, (something Daniel would never attempt to do without a specific order.)  That protected Daniel from the necessity of informing his Slytherin Superiors about the girl in London and her possible identity.  
          The survey call referred to a response to a message written on a ten-pound note.  Daniel had written two such messages, one on each ten-pound note that had been placed in the bag left at the train station.  The tracking spell made the messages invisible.  They remained that way unless specific conditions were met.  The first condition was the touch of a wizard or witch.  One of the notes had been activated.  That meant someone handling the note, and most likely the bag as well, had definitely been a witch or wizard.   
          Added to Roland’s visual identification of the girl, the activation of the note might have been sufficient evidence for Daniel to inform Security that the girl Roland saw was indeed a Witch and perhaps the one they sought.  But Roland did not _see_ who had picked up the bag.   It might not have been the girl.  In fact it logically _couldn’t_ be the girl as she had never been seen getting off the train.  Anyone could have gotten the bag and the note might have passed through several hands before getting touched (and activated) by a wizard or witch.  Again, Daniel had nothing concrete enough to warrant notifying his Slytherin Superiors.  
          But Daniel had his suspicions.  They were very strong and all pointed to one person.  That suspicion created a new question, one Roland had already asked:  how did the girl get out of the train unseen?  Daniel knew Roland hadn’t failed; he was too good to have missed her.  There had been nothing for him to see.  So how had the girl made it completely across the station without being noticed?   
          The easiest, most logical, solution was totally improbable. Yet it was the one that fit the evidence of a growling dog, the missing bag later and could also explain how the girl had so completely eluded Wizard Flint.  The girl was full of unlikely impossibilities, why not one more?   
          Daniel knew Holly had been searched for a wand, but no one, not even himself, had thought to search her for other magical items.  Nons just didn’t have such things.  Most of the magical items of value that Nons once owned were confiscated, stolen, more accurately, during the Slytherin House searches made while conducting the numerous Non Head Counts.  To think the girl might have calmly walked around the Security Station while carrying an exceedingly rare, highly valuable invisibility cloak boggled the mind.  And it had to be a cloak.  A Disillusionment Charm would have been stored in its container in her bag or made an obvious bulge in her clothing.  How had she gotten a cloak?  
          Daniel shoved thoughts of the cloak aside and returned his attention to the conversation at hand.  “What was the survey response?” he asked quietly.  A witch or wizard activated the spell by touching the note.  The spell was completed once a Muggle touched the same paper.  Exactly five minutes after a Muggle touched the note a tiny message in blue appeared upon the paper:  “ _This is a marketing survey_ ,” the message began, “ _To receive a 50£ reward call ---- to answer some questions about how this note was used_.”  
          The Wizard/Muggle tracking spell was one developed years earlier to identify and trace a Wizard using Muggles to aid in his smuggling activities.  Daniel was involved in the operation because of the Muggle aspect.  None of the Slytherins wanted to deal with the Muggles.  It was left to Daniel to interview Muggles who responded to the message.   
           The first attempt at Wizard-to-Muggle note writing ( _“Report to a Security Station with this note immediately!”_ ) was not successful.  But eventually the right combination of incentives and instructions brought about the desired results.  The smuggling wizard was finally identified and brought to justice—if one could call anything in the wizarding world “justice.”  The wizard in question vanished and the whole incident was hushed up so no one outside of Security even knew smuggling had happened.  Though not officially taught the spell, Daniel saw it worked often enough to reproduce it on his own.  
          “A cab driver called it in,” said the voice answering Daniel’s question.  “He picked up a passenger at Britannia Street and dropped her off at the corner of Orange Street and Charing Cross Road.”   
          “Description of the passenger?”  
          “A girl with blonde hair,” replied the voice.   
          Inwardly Daniel breathed a sigh of relief.  There were no Alerts out for female witches with _blonde_ hair.  He could not be faulted for failing to notify the authorities of the presence of an unknown witch or by tracking her.  “Did you make payment?”  
          “Yes.”  
          “Get reimbursement from account number --------.”  That was the Runners’ fund.  Why not?  The girl was definitely a Runner…  
          “Acknowledged.”  The voice shut off.   
          Daniel placed his own phone back in his pocket and sat down in a parlor chair to assimilate the new information.  Britannia Street was near the train station—but not too near.  That made sense.  She’d waited until she was safely away from the station before investigating the content of the bag.  What was near Orange Street and Charing Cross Road?  Daniel’s eyes widened—Diagon Alley!!!  Would she dare Diagon Alley?  A hunted fugitive without a wand?  For what purpose?  On second thought, Daniel didn’t want to know the purpose.  The girl didn’t belong and yet she existed.  The way she was being hunted made Daniel suspect it was too dangerous to know the reasons.  He still wanted to help her—but not in ways that would endanger anyone else.   
          What would a stranger in Diagon Alley need?  Daniel had no doubt Holly would manage to get into Diagon Alley; she had proved quite resourceful so far.  And though she showed familiarity with the Wizard world, the girl was definitely a stranger.  She would need more money, of course, wizard money this time, but not so much as to draw attention to herself.  “More food and water, too,” Daniel thought to himself, “and maybe a safe place to stay for the night—somewhere with an unlocked door and a quiet room behind the door where no one would look and she wouldn’t be seen or recognized…”  Daniel considered the situation a while.  Then he drew out the cell phone and made another call…


	15. Chapter 15

          Holly stood quietly against the wall that concealed Diagon Alley.  She was hiding under her invisibility cloak and waiting for the brick wall to open up to let someone out.  It had been fairly easy to find the Leaky Cauldron once Holly remembered the name of the street it was on.  Then she managed to get inside by waiting besides the door and slipping in after someone else opened it to go out.  
          The interior of the Leaky Cauldron looked just as dingy and seedy as Holly remembered it.  Inside were some seated people wearing wizard robes of green and gold.  Other wizards wearing drab brown, black and gray colours sat on the outside edges of the room well away from the Slytherin ones.  The place wasn’t full, but there were enough people to make crossing the room tricky.  Holly edged herself safely away from the door and then waited, watching to determine her best opportunity.  She finally made it across the room while the proprietor was loudly discussing the bill with his Slytherin patrons.  Their noise also covered the sound of the back door opening as well.   
          Once outside Holly had to stop again.  It required a wand to open the back wall and Holly had none.  Also, there was a Security Guard in Red and Black standing at the wall.  He had looked curiously at the opened door but seemed to attach no importance to it assuming perhaps the door hadn’t been properly fastened in the first place.  Taking no chances, Holly remained absolutely still in the Guard’s presence.  She moved forward only when certain that the sound of her steps were covered by that of other wizards who came out the back door to go into the Alley.  One short portly wizard in green robes had done just that.  Unfortunately, the Wizard’s wand only made a small doorway instead of the huge archway Holly remembered.  Holly got close but wasn’t able to get through the opening before it closed again.  So Holly stood at the wall and waited.  The Security Guard stood less than two meters away.  
          The Security Guard looked thoroughly bored.  When no one else was in the yard, he spent his time watching the continuous news shown on the _Daily Prophet_ News screen.  It was located on the right side wall of the Diagon Alley entrance.    Holly found it nerve-wracking to stand so close to the Guard certain he would hear or see something that would awaken his suspicions and enable him to sense her presence.  She took shallow slow breaths fearing he would hear her and kept her eyes focused on the _Daily Prophet_ News screen, afraid the Guard would feel Holly's eyes on him if she looked in his direction.   
          The news seemed pretty ordinary:  “Minister Lestrange Announces Era of Peace and Prosperity,” “Crime down 10%,” “New Potions Text Available,” “Mudblood Magic Theft Down,” “Hogwarts Enrollment Expected to Increase,” “Quidditch Match set for August”...  Interspersed between the headlines and articles were moving photos of persons wanted for breaking Wizard laws.  Holly recognized some of them from the Muggle Security Alert news but these people were accused of “wizard crimes,” not acts of terrorism.   
          With a start Holly recognized a Wanted photo of Ravindra.  It showed her in the act of standing with her colourful beaded cornrow braids swinging gently side-to-side.  The photo looked a lot like Ravindra though Holly knew it must have been taken over five years earlier.  The caption accompanying the photo only accused Ravindra of  “Wizard crimes,” but the photo panned out to show Ravindra standing between three very bloody, very dead bodies.  It left no doubt as to what “Wizard crimes” Ravindra supposedly committed.  Holly carefully wiped away the tears that flowed unbidden to her eyes as she silently cried for the world both she and Ravindra had lost.  _“It won’t be long now,”_ she mentally told the photo. _“Dumbledore will help us out.”_  
          Among those photos displayed as wanted criminals was Holly’s own photo.  Her solemn face stared out at the world with long brown braids hanging down her shoulders on either side.  Holly noted she was now accused of “breaking wizard laws” instead of being somehow involved with a missing cruise ship.  
          It seemed like an eternity, but suddenly Holly heard a low rumble behind her back.  She turned her head to look and held her breath.  Out of the corner of her eyes she watched the bricks reform right behind her.  Heedless of the possible noise, Holly scrambled quickly through the opening before it was finished, angling herself off to one side.  Even so she narrowly missed bumping into a family of wizards impatiently waiting on the other side anxious to get home.  

********************

          Holly could scarce contain her excitement at having finally gotten to Diagon Alley.  Gringotts was only a short walk away!  What would be in the vault number 321?  What had Dumbledore left her?  Maybe the vault contained wizard money; perhaps it had a portkey or something else to get her into Hogwarts.  The possibilities were endless.  But whatever it was, Holly was sure the contents of the vault would help her, as the invisible cloak had done.  It was late, however and Holly realized that Gringotts was probably closed.  But just the thought of being so near her goal was exhilarating.  Holly was content to find a quiet corner near the bank to sleep the night in expectation of getting into Gringotts first thing in the morning.  
          Holly took a deep breath as she stood with her back against the opening to Diagon Alley.  She surveyed the whole Alley while she waited for the wall to close behind her.  She was so close to reaching her objective she didn’t want to risk blowing it by being careless.   
          Though the buildings looked the same, Diagon Alley seemed more grimy and dirty than Holly remembered it.  That could have been just a trick of light due to the late hour of the day.  Diagon Alley was not crowded and bustling as she had last seen it nor was it empty either.  Vendors were slowly packing up their wares while wizards wandered up and down doing last minute shopping.  
          Holly noted two wizards in black robes and Security uniforms striding purposefully towards her, rather, towards the Alley exit.  She moved sideways until she was well out of their way and then stared at the two.  Tom Richards!  That was definitely the taller of the two and next to him Holly recognized Paige Crowley!   
          Holly had met Richards during her last visit to this world.  He had been angry and mean to her.  Richards was always angry in Holly’s world too, but now he looked confident and relaxed.  He looked almost a different person.  Paige, however, was eerily the same.  She was still willowy and thin with a pale face that contained no expression at all.  Paige’s waist long black hair was neatly tied into a single braid and draped over her shoulder.  The blood red ribbons tied in it sparkled and showed prominently even in the evening light.  
          Holly could hear snatches of their conversation as they drew near.  “…thought that Muggle Security would be a bore, but it wasn’t!” said Richards cheerfully.  “Too bad I can’t tell you about it but, well, you know, confidentiality and all that…  It’s the one thing I don’t like about Security, not being able to talk about it.”  
          “Mmmm,” replied Paige non-committally while taking a sip from a squirmy straw stuck in the drink she held in her hand.  “But it’s the secrecy that makes working for Security so interesting, don’t you think?  Knowing that no one else knows what we do.”  
          “True,” agreed Richards thoughtfully as he pulled out his wand.  “I expect once we’re fully employed we can be more open about it all at least to each other…”   He counted out the bricks to open the wall.  As he did so, Paige turned her head and looked directly at Holly!  
          _“No!”_ thought Holly in a panic. _“She couldn’t be looking at me!  I’m invisible aren’t I?  But then, why else would she look in this particular direction?”_    In terror, Holly held her ground and looked back at Paige rather than risk moving and making a sound.  Holly noted Paige’s familiar pale skin, it’s whiteness broken only by her black eyes and bright red lips.  The colour of Paige’s long red fingernails matched her red lips, hair ribbons and the crimson lining of her Security Wizard Robes.  Her black Security uniform was a tailored jacket and form fitting skirt that flared out gently at the hem, which fell modestly well below her knees.  
          Paige’s took another sip of her drink and absently twirled the straw with her fingers while her unfathomable black eyes stared straight through Holly, at least that’s what Holly hoped they were doing.  Holly hoped there was something behind her that was the source of Paige’s attention but she could never tell with Paige.  Holly hadn’t been able to read Paige’s emotions while at Hogwarts and Holly suspected she still couldn’t even without wearing the invisible cloak.   
          The brick walls of Diagon Alley reformed into a doorway.  Without a word Paige returned the straw to her mouth, took another sip of her drink, and then turned her face to the entrance.  Holly gave a mental sigh of relief but continued to watch Paige nervously.  When the bricks stopped moving Paige put her arm in Richards' and leaned against him while he put his wand away.   
          “Shall we?” asked Richards grandly as he took a step towards the entrance gently pulling Paige along.  Paige looked again in Holly’s direction—at Holly it seemed.  Holly’s heart raced uncontrollably and her eyes flickered around anxiously seeking possible avenues of escape.  While still staring towards Holly, Paige moved forward allowing Richards to walk her through the entrance.   
          Holly held her breath not daring to breathe until the wall reformed again locking the two out of Diagon Alley.  Paige was creepy in Holly’s own world and more so here. 

********************

          Holly moved away from the Alley exit as fast as she dared.  She wanted no more “near misses” like the one with Paige.  Paige might not have seen Holly but the experience was too unnerving to discount.  Now all Holly wanted to do was to find Gringotts as fast as possible and then, if it wasn’t open, find a safe corner for the night.  The alley was fairly empty making moving easy.  Though she had been there only once before Holly was pretty certain she could locate Gringotts with no difficulty.  It was, as she recalled, rather centrally located.  
          _“It should be just round this corner!”_ thought Holly excitedly as she raced over the narrow but increasingly familiar cobblestoned street heedless of the noise she might make; there were few people out to notice and those that were, were busy making their own noise putting things away.  
          Holly turned the corner and looked up.  There, rising up majestically and towering above the other buildings was Gringotts.  The polished stone steps led up to familiar looking pillars that sheltered Gringotts’ burnished bronze doors.  But instead of the snowy white that Holly remembered this Gringotts shone _red-gold_ in the setting sun!   
          Holly stared in disbelief. What had happened to the original white building?  Where were all the goblins?  As she looked, Holly noticed other differences:  red stone steps with sparkling gold flecks leading to the entrance, a guard at the door in a red uniform wearing red wizard robes, a huge circular indentation of the land and street all around Gringotts and a mound upon which the building of Gringotts stood.  
          Then Holly noticed the gleaming white ground on either side of Gringotts.  White sparkles were everywhere on the ground—even between the cobblestones beneath her feet.  Holly knelt down and touched the white stuff between the cobblestones.  Sand!  Fine white powdery sand!  She had never seen sand so white—not even at the beach!  Holly suddenly had a good idea what had happened to the original Gringotts—it was still here, beneath her feet!  With horrible certainly Holly knew there was nothing in vault 321 waiting for her—there _was_ no vault 321!

********************

          Holly knelt a long time staring at the Gringotts building in front of her while feeling the Gringotts-that-was between her fingers.  Her mind was a blank whirl.  Though Holly knew from experience what needed to be done in the Hogwarts trophy room, she had never known how to actually get to that room.  Her knowledge of the wizard world was minimal.  Her father openly hated Wizards and Witches and wanted nothing to do with them.  Cousin Harry had respected her dad’s wishes and had intruded on their lives as little as possible.  Holly only knew of Diagon Alley and Gringotts because she had been there with Cousin Harry.  Of Hogwarts, Holly knew even less; she had flown there at night by motorbike once and taken a train the next year but the train didn’t run during the summer.  Hogwarts was up north somewhere and protected by magic to keep the Muggles away.  Holly had no idea where it was located let alone how to get there.   
          Holly knew she had made it to Diagon Alley by pure luck.  She had been trusting that something in Dumbledore’s vault would help her get to Hogwarts.  With the vault and its contents gone Holly suddenly felt cut off and cast adrift utterly without hope, totally alone.  
          Someone crashed into Holly’s shoulder stumbling and tripping in the process.  Holly automatically stood and moved forward, oblivious of the person who had bumped into her and was now muttering curses due to his “clumsiness.”  In a daze, Holly continued walking taking slow steady wooden steps forward seeing nothing along the way moving only for the sake of moving.  She walked without conscious thought taking whatever route seemed easiest.  Holly passed the Owl Emporium, as she walked never noticing the simple sign in the window that read “YCLF.”  Nor did she see a similar sign posted at the Apothecary further down the street.  On and on Holly walked her numbed mind registering nothing but the despair within her.   
          The sky darkened.  Only a few lit torches illuminated the streets with eerie flickering shadows.  And still Holly continued to walk.  She blindly moved up one street and down the next neither knowing nor caring where she went.  Eventually Holly’s feet took her down a narrow lane that ended in a bricked up wall.  Holly stared blankly at the wall and then collapsed in an exhausted sleep.

********************

          The skinny gray rat scurried down the lane in search of food.  It was hungry and there were some new scents to check out.  The rat approached the source of the scent cautiously.  It couldn’t see anything but could still smell something and scent was more important than sight.  Working his way under some sort of obstruction, the rat finally reached his goal: the source of the scent.  He brought his nose up close; his sensitive whiskers brushed the object.  It twitched slightly.  Startled by the movement, the rat hurried off.  
          A rather large but scrawny one-eyed, black and white striped tomcat spotted the movement of the rat in the distance.  The cat leaped forward without hesitation before the rat would have the chance to gain cover.  It crashed mid-air into a solid wall of nothing!  Stunned and surprised, the cat ran away.  The rat ran off in the opposite direction and the lane was quiet again.

********************

          Holly stirred and sat up.  She didn’t know what had hit her but something had and she was now awake.  She hadn’t slept well at all; she had dreamed of her parents and Vernon begging her for help and then turning to fine white Gringotts dust and blowing away in front of her.  Looking around Holly could dimly see other figures in the alley wrapped in their robes leaning against the walls.  She noted the closed off end to the street.  Everything looked totally unfamiliar.  Holly quietly stood feeling stiff, sore and cold.  Invisible cloaks did not work well as blankets.  She adjusted her cloak making sure it covered her completely and then walked quietly back the way she had come.   
          Holly had no idea where she was, not that it really mattered.  It wasn’t as if she had any place special to find.  She walked aimlessly up one lane and down the next.  Then Holly encountered an older person in shabby wizard robes hurrying down the lane.  Changing her speed to match his, Holly followed the person.   
          As they walked in the gray morning, Holly saw a familiar Security screen flashing brightly.  It seemed different somehow.  Holly paused to look.  Again, Holly saw her photo featured prominently, but the heading had changed.   
          The label now read: **1,000 Galleon Reward!**  Underneath it read:  **Have you seen this person?  1,000 Galleon reward will be given to the person who provides information leading to the identity and apprehension of this witch!**    
          Holly shivered and looked anxiously over her shoulder as she read the notice. Surely her luck could not hold forever.  Diagon Alley had always been risky; it seemed more so after reading the revised notice.  One could do a lot with 1,000 Galleons.  Looking around it seemed as if there were a lot of people who could use that kind of money here.  
          The older wizard Holly followed had continued walking out of sight while Holly had paused to read the Alert.  But Holly spotted a skinny witch with gray hair wearing a faded blue-patched robe and hat walking swiftly in the same direction as the older wizard.  Holly followed the witch down the street.  She led Holly past Gringotts, which now looked more sinister than ever shining blood red in the morning light, to a gray tumbled-down cafe with a faded worn sign overhead reading “Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor.”  The place obviously served more than ice cream for the warm scent of freshly baked bread wafted out; Holly’s stomach growled hungrily in response.  Holly stared at the café thoughtfully.  Unfortunately, several people crowded around the open entrance making Holly’s own approach too risky.  
          Having already passed Gringotts, Holly knew where she was.  Ignoring her growling stomach, Holly resolutely turned her head away from Florean’s and its tempting scents.  In doing so, she spotted another Wanted Wizard sign bearing her picture and reward amount posted boldly in front of the store just opposite Florean.  And then Holly saw another further down the street!  They were everywhere!  Holly's own face seemed to stare back at her accusingly.  Refusing to let herself be distracted by the posters and what they meant Holly kept her eyes fixed on the ground and continued on her way out the alley looking neither right nor left.  In doing so, she missed the small sign in the window of the Astrology shop next to Florean’s that read:  “ _Fortunes for YCLF_.”

********************

          Holly found it much easier to get out of Diagon Alley than it was to get in.  The doorway in the wall stayed open for long periods of time as person after person streamed into the Alley for morning shopping.   Holly was able to easily slip through between wizards going the other direction without being noticed.  There was a new Security Guard on duty at the entrance.  As she moved cautiously to the back door of the Leaky Cauldron, Holly noticed the _Daily Prophet_ News Screen no longer displayed the news; it only showed an enlargement of Holly’s photo and proclaimed the reward for her capture.  
          The Leaky Cauldron was full of patrons, eating and talking.  Holly carefully made it across the room dodging people and using the existing noise to cover her presence.  She heard a lot of murmured talk along the way, “Who is she?”  “A thousand Galleons?”  “Have you seen her?”  “Wonder why?”  Holly didn’t stop to listen; the talk only made her want to get out faster—get away from all the people hunting her.  The Muggle world seemed much safer at this point.  She breathed a sigh of relief when she finally made out the door of the Leaky Cauldron and was again walking down the sidewalks of Charing Cross Road.  
          When Holly judged she was far enough away from the Leaky Cauldron she found a quiet corner and drew off her invisibility cloak.  The flood of emotions around her felt like a breath of fresh air.  She knew it was more dangerous being visible but Holly had felt stifled under the cloak. Now, at least Holly, could tell when danger was near…  
          Holly carefully folded and stuffed the invisibility cloak under her shirt.  Then she fished out the other ten-pound note.  Waving it boldly in one hand she scanned the road in search of a taxi.  When one slowed to a stop in front of her, Holly opened the door and got in.  “I’d like to go to Grimmauld Place,” she told the driver in a clear calm voice.

********************

          Holly leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes mentally bracing herself for what would come.   She only knew of two places in London.  Sometime during the middle of the night Holly decided she wanted to go to Grimmauld Place.  It was a rather risky decision and one that would most likely get her killed.  But Holly was out of options and as for dying, well, that didn’t sound all that bad any more.  
          “You’re sure this is where you want to go?”  
           “What?” asked Holly opening her eyes and looking around.  The taxi had come to a stop on the curb in the middle of a small square.  All around were grimy forbidding looking houses, some with broken windows and most with peeling paint.  Heaps of rubbish lay outside near many of the front steps.  
          “I said are you sure this is where you want to go?” repeated the taxicab driver.   
          The taxicab driver seemed a nice person and Holly could tell he was very worried about letting her off at a place like this.  It did look rather disagreeable, but for the first time since the curse had happened everything looked totally familiar to Holly; nothing seemed to have changed here.  “It’s O.K.,” assured Holly.  “It’s the right place.” Her words didn’t seem to reassure the driver much so Holly added, “I have relatives who live here.”  Well, it was true, sort of.  Holly handed the man her ten-pound note for payment and waited for the change.  The driver reluctantly gave Holly some money.  She opened the cab door and got out.

********************

          Holly watched as the taxi drove out of sight before she turned her attention to the gap in house numbers between eleven and thirteen.  Facing the area where a number twelve should have been, Holly closed her eyes and thought the words she had seen on a paper Cousin Harry had given her to memorize last year.  _“Harry Potter’s house may be found at Number 12 Grimmauld Place.”_ Holly waited a moment and then opened her eyes.  Nothing happened.  Nothing had changed.  It didn’t work!  Holly closed her eyes again fighting back the tears of disappointment.  What now?  Wait for someone to come out?  Holly doubted that would work.  The house had probably been destroyed like everything else that was connected to Cousin Harry.  And she had been so sure it would be there!  Hadn’t cousin James said his dad had inherited the house from a bunch of Slytherins?   
          Inherited!  That was it!  If Cousin Harry were dead, he wouldn’t own the house would he?  What was the name of Cousin Harry’s godfather—the one he inherited it from???  Holly frowned trying to remember.  Sydney?  Silas?  Simon?  Cyrus?  Sirius!!!  Yes! That was it!!!  Sirius!!!  Holly closed her eyes and reworded the sentence in her mind. _“_ _Sirius Black’s house may be found at Number 12 Grimmauld Place.”_ Holly kept her eyes closed a long time afterwards afraid of what she would find when she opened them.  Cousin Harry had made Holly a Secret Keeper by giving her the location of his home, but would it be enough knowledge?  Would the revised spell work?   
          Finally Holly could bear it no longer.  She opened her eyes.  There, in front of her, was a grimy battered house squished between numbers eleven and thirteen.  Holly gave a smile in delight at her success.  Using her fingers, Holly brushed out some of the tangles in her hair smoothing it. Then she walked up the worn stone steps stopping in front of an ancient looking door.  The black paint on the surface of the door was shabby and scratched.  In the center of the door was a single silver knocker shaped in the form of a twisted serpent.  
          Taking a deep breath, Holly lifted the knocker and firmly lowered it making it the door with a loud “rap.”

********************

          The vibration of the cell phone in his hand woke Daniel Pilkington almost immediately.  He had fallen asleep holding it expecting some sort of response all night.  He looked over at Terika while he slid out of bed.  She appeared fast asleep with deep, even breathing stirring only slightly when he replaced the covers.  Daniel found his robe and quietly went into the Parlor.  Drawing out his wand he whispered “ _Muffeliato.”_ Only then did he open up the still vibrating telephone in his hand.  
          Daniel put the phone to his ear.  “Report?” he asked softly.  
          “We got a survey call,” said a whispery voice on the other end.  Survey call?  Daniel came awake immediately.  He had been expecting a response from someone in Diagon Alley.  Had the girl gotten in there?  Did she miss the signs?  Not need them?  What happened?  “What was the survey response?” Daniel asked quietly.  
          “A cab driver called it in,” said the voice answering Daniel’s question.  “He picked up a passenger at the corner of Cranbourn Street and Upper Saint Martin’s Lane.  He dropped her off at the end of Grimmauld Place.”   
          “Description of the passenger?”  
          “A young girl with long blonde hair,” replied the voice.   
          Long?  That was new.  “Did you make payment?”  
          “Yes.”  
          “Get reimbursement from account number --------.”  
          “Acknowledged.  Uh,” came the voice hesitantly.  
          “Yes?”  There was clearly more information to add.  It must have been an informative cabbie.  
          “This all apparently happened not ten minutes ago,” added the voice.  
          “You sure?”  If true, that was good news.  She couldn’t have gotten far yet.  
          “Positive,” replied the voice.  “It was the first lift of the day and the cabbie used the note to get some breakfast afterwards.  That’s when he saw the writing.”  
          “Anything else?”  
          “Yes.  It seems Grimmauld Place is a rather seedy neighborhood.  He didn’t like letting her off but the girl assured him she had relatives living there.”  
          _“Relatives?”_ thought Daniel.  _“Who?”_   Aloud, he added, “Thank you,” and he disconnected.  
          Daniel considered the information he had received. The corner of Cranbourn Street and Upper Saint Martin’s Lane was near Diagon Alley.  That made sense.  But Grimmauld Place?  Why would she go there?  There was nothing of interest or importance at Grimmauld Place.  To his knowledge, it was a totally Muggle area; there weren’t even any magical residences there.  Turning on the cell phone, Daniel dialed a number and made a call…

********************

          The incessant pounding wouldn’t stop!  At first Sirius Black thought it was a pounding headache related to all the butterbeer he had drunk last night.  But that couldn’t be right.  Headache, yes, but not this nonstop pounding.  That had never before happened in all the years Sirius had used butterbeer to drink himself into oblivion.  
          Gradually Sirius came to realize that the pounding came from outside his head, from somewhere else.  “Kreacher!” he shouted. “Stop the pounding!”   Oooooh!  Talking hurt his head worse!  But the pounding continued.  It couldn’t be Kreacher, Sirius decided.  Kreacher would have stopped on a direct order.   
          Sirius opened his eyes.  Despite the blurry vision, he could tell he was in the dining room.  A dirty mug lay on the floor next to him.  It was tipped its side; the remains of its contents spilled out on the floor, the liquid had soaked into his clothes.  Finding himself in the middle of the floor came as no surprise.  Sirius hadn’t bothered with a bed in years, preferring to remain wherever he fell after drinking himself into a stupor.  Using a chair seat for support, Sirius dragged himself up off the floor.  He ignored the cold wet sensation of butterbeer from his soaked clothes that ran down his leg and onto his bare feet.  Gripping the table, Sirius pulled himself up to an unsteady standing position. Usually he didn’t bother to move when he felt this shaky.  It was better to just keep his eyes closed and reach for the last lingering effects of the butterbeer but that pounding wouldn’t stop.  Leaning heavily on the table, Sirius staggered slowly forward towards the source of the pounding.  Moving made his headache worse, but he wanted that pounding to stop.  
          When he reached the end of the table Sirius grabbed a nearby chair and used it as a crutch to leave the dining room without falling.  Sliding the chair along he took a few steps forward into the entryway.  The old-fashioned gas lamps immediately sputtered to life along the walls providing light.  Sirius took another step and then stopped in surprise.  The pounding was coming from the front door!  Someone was knocking!!!  That had never happened before; it shouldn’t be happening now!  
          Sirius straightened.  He took the final steps forward to the door choosing his steps carefully so he wouldn’t fall.  Without warning, Sirius suddenly stumbled.  His grasping hands caught the heavy troll’s leg umbrella stand.  It prevented him from sprawling on the floor.  Sirius straightened using the stand for balance.  Then he reached out towards the door with a shaking arm.  He could almost touch the doorknob.  Leaning forward, Sirius took a final tottering step, quickly grabbed the doorknob and rested against the door while he regained his balance.  He could feel the vibration of the insistent knocking through the door.  Sirius’ trembling fingers gripped the knob tightly and twisted.  He felt the latch release and continued to lean on the knob while taking a step backwards thus opening the door…  
 _“Lily!!!”_ he thought in amazement staring at the blurry figure with a raised hand.  For the young girl who stood in front of him looked surprisingly like a vision from his past—a long dead ghost from his past.  
          “I’m terribly sorry to bother you so early,” began the vision lowering her hand.  She sounded amazingly like Lily, too, as she continued talking, “but do you know, or rather, did you know a Sirius Black?”  Sirius stared in disbelief.  Getting no response, the vision continued, “I mean, maybe somebody living here knew Sirius Black?  I’d like to talk with that person, if I may.  It’s terribly important…”  Her voice trailed off and she looked at him hopefully waiting for a response.  
 _“I’m hallucinating!”_ Sirius decided while closing his mouth, which he had discovered hanging open.  Lily was long dead and he knew it.  She couldn’t be standing in front of him. With his free hand, Sirius rubbed his eyes.  His vision cleared but the figure remained.  She looked even more like Lily and still stood in front him looking expectantly with those familiar green eyes.  Sirius cleared his throat in a rough cough.  “I’m Sirius Black,” he finally told the vision.  His voice came out sounding like a gravelly grating croak.  He rarely spoke when he could help it.  
          The face on the hallucination broke into a sunny smile.  “Are you?” it said.  “Are you really?” the vision asked in her Lily sounding voice.  “That’s terrific!   I really need your help.”  She looked past him into the house.  “Could we talk?” she added her voice suddenly getting serious.  
          Wordlessly, Sirius backed up drawing the door further open as he moved.  _“I’m hallucinating,”_ he said to himself again as the image walked in, _“and now I’m having conversations with myself!”_ Sirius shrugged.  _“Well,”_ he thought to himself as he leaned on the door closing it.  _“It’s bound to be more entertaining than how I usually spend my days.”_


	16. Chapter 16

          Roland Dewitt slowed his motorbike to a stop along an empty curb. Then he carefully locked it and set a Disillusionment Charm over the bike so casual by-passers would not see it.  If he had read and memorized his map correctly, Grimmauld Place would be around the next corner.  
          He had not expected to receive a call so early in the morning especially not so soon after yesterday’s assignment.  Usually he got a day or two to mull things over before being grilled again.  But this morning was different.   
          “Is the _Muffeliato_ spell in effect?” asked the voice on the other end without preamble.  No names were mentioned but Roland recognized the voice immediately as that of Wizard Pilkington.  
          “Uh, hold on,” replied Roland barely functioning, the sharp “hoot” of the phone having wakened him from a deep sleep.  Wizard Pilkington had always insisted that Roland keep his cell phone turned on and nearby but never had it sounded off so early.  Roland set down the phone, grabbed his wand and quickly whispered “ _Muffeliato.”_ He returned the phone to his ear.  “We can talk, now,” he said into the phone.  
          “Did you complete the assignment given you last night with different possible scenarios?”  
          “Um, yes,” said Roland, still only half awake.   
          “Good,” replied the voice.  Then it added bluntly, “You need to practice your surveillance techniques more.”  
          “Yes sir,” replied Roland automatically.  He wasn’t surprised he would have to do more surveillance given how completely he had blown the last assignment.  
          “Put your best alternative solution to the previous scenario into practice,” instructed the voice.  “Watch for the same person.”  
          That woke Roland totally.  The mysterious blonde girl who “wasn’t” a witch!  She had successfully eluded him once; now he had a chance to not let it happen again.  “And if I see her?” asked Roland.   
          “Watch, but do not interfere,” came the reply.  “Then report.  This is only an exercise, remember?”  
          “Yes, sir,” replied Roland certain this was more than a simple “exercise” no matter what the voice said.  “Where should I conduct this surveillance?” he inquired.  
          “Grimmauld Place,” replied the voice.  
          “When?” asked Roland while wondering where the heck Grimmauld Place was.  
          “Immediately,” came the response and the connection ended.   
          Roland hastily dressed and then dug out a map of London.  Wizard Pilkington had instructed him to memorize the map but Roland had only memorized a quarter of it so far and not the part containing Grimmauld Place.  Once he located Grimmauld Place, Roland noted the location and committed it to memory.  Then Roland put together his things, grabbed a sandwich to eat along the way and scribbled a quick note for his parents so they wouldn’t worry.   
          Once he had secured his motorbike, Roland quietly walked to the corner of Grimmauld Place.  Though not completely satisfied with the alternatives he had developed, Roland had given the circumstances of his failure a lot of thought.  He had finally come to the conclusion that everything had gone wrong the moment the girl had seen him.  She had recognized him somehow.  Under those circumstances, Roland had to take care to not be seen while conducting his surveillance.   
          He considered the ways he could accomplish this.  He could completely disguise himself by the use of polyjuice potion but that was totally prohibited for Nons and only lasted an hour.  Roland could also put on a traditional Muggle disguise, but somehow, he suspected the girl would see through it and not be fooled.  Besides, an unfamiliar lone character loitering on a street corner would awaken neighboring Muggle suspicions; they might call in Royal Security to investigate...  An invisibility cloak would be nice, but Roland didn’t have any.  Finally, Roland could make use of a Disillusionment Charm.   
          Disillusionment Charms were popular at Hogwarts, at least with the Nons.  Every Non could prepare a Disillusionment Charm easily and usually carried several Charms with them in their bags to class each day.  With a Disillusionment Charm a Non had a chance to dodge abusive Slytherins after class.  If a Non under a Disillusionment Charm could mange to reach the next classroom (and stay hidden until class) or make it to the Non dorms without detection then he or she would escape harassment for a while.   
          Of course, the Slytherins were free to hunt out their victims in the Non dorms, but it took so long just to go through the maze of pipes to get to the dorms that few Slytherins bothered.  Those that did were always disappointed, unable to find their quarry.  The Nons had installed several minor magical advanced warning systems, which alerted them to a Slytherin arrival.  This gave the hunted Nons time to recast the Disillusionment Charm and then walk around the dorm randomly while no one else was looking.  When a Slytherin arrived and inquired on the whereabouts of a specific Non, the rest of the Nons could always honestly answer:  “I don’t know.”  
          Roland saw a faded and worn street sign brearing the name Grimmauld Place.  He stopped and pulled out a small egg shaped container from his bag.  Breaking it over his head Roland felt the liquid drip through his hair and down his neck activating the Disillusionment Charm.  Now the girl wouldn’t see him while he watched.  He turned the corner and immediately scanned the area for the blonde haired girl.  He didn’t see her anywhere.  Roland next stepped quietly down the sidewalk.  By walking slowly and quietly, no one would notice his presence while under the Disillusionment Charm.   Roland was good at walking unobserved; he had had six years of experience doing just that to avoid Slytherin tormentors.   
          Roland looked around constantly as he moved trying to observe everything along the way.  Surveillance for Wizard Pilkington was more than just standing and watching.  Roland knew Wizard Pilkington would want a report of the whole neighborhood committed to memory.  Roland picked his way carefully over the piles of trash as he explored the street.  He noted with relief the street ended in a circular loop.  That meant there was only one way out.  He counted the number of broken windows and determined which structures appeared vacant. Roland even discovered a numerical error that placed house number eleven next to house number thirteen. Then he walked through one of the many narrow walkways between houses to tour what he could of the back of the houses.  Old fences with broken boards blocked off the back yards. Peering over the fences Roland could see a broken down swing set, barrels of some sort, a clothesline with a few clothes hanging up to dry and lots more trash.  
          When he had finished his tour and observation of the street, Roland selected a sturdy cardboard box from the piles of trash and returned with it to the beginning of the street.  It would have looked pretty weird to see that box floating along without assistance, but by this time Roland had confirmed the street was empty of people and noted that no one awake was looking through the windows either.  He turned the box upside down and set it on the sidewalk right before the first occupied house.  Then Roland pulled a brown paper bag out of his knapsack bearing the letters “YCLF” and placed it prominently on the box.   
          Roland had found the bag sitting on his motorbike when preparing to leave his house.  No instructions were included but Roland knew what to do with the bag.  He’d set up the last bag and wondered at the letters.  Not that he would ask about the significance of the letters—not now or ever.  The presence of the bag confirmed to Roland that the blonde girl had indeed somehow managed to get the other bag out of the station.  He longed to know what was in it, but knew better than to look.  Ignorance was a defense during Slytherin interrogations and by now Roland was convinced this situation was much more than a simple training assignment; the less he knew about the details the better.   
          With the bag in place, Roland retreated further up the street to the location he had selected for surveillance purposes.  It gave him a complete view of the street and anything that might happen within it.  Roland leaned up against the wall blending in completely.  Then he settled himself comfortably preparing for a long day of observation…

********************

          “Mr. Black,” began the hallucination as soon as the door had closed.  “My name is Holly Wycliff.”  
 _“That’s an odd name,”_ thought Sirius to himself.  _“Wonder where I came up with that?”_  
          “It should be Dursley, though,” the hallucination added, “because Harry Potter’s my cousin.”  
 _“Harry!”_ thought Sirius with surprise.  _“I haven’t thought of him in years.”_  
          “And I really, _really_ need your help in getting to Hogwarts.”  
          “Hogwarts?” echoed Sirius out loud.  
          “Yes, Hogwarts,” agreed the hallucination.  “And I haven’t much time,” she added urgently.  Sirius stared at the hallucination.  It was a beautiful rendition of Lily, an early Lily before she married James.  Sirius had never before imagined Lily wearing a dirty blue sweatshirt though.  It wasn’t her style.  Nor was the dirt smudged on her face and hands.  Lily loved the cleaning spells.  It was nice, however, to listen to the hallucination speak; the voice sounded so different from the one he usually used.  
          “You see,” explained the hallucination filling the silence, “There’s a horrible curse going on and I’ve got to get to Hogwarts to try to break the curse and fix things.”  
          “Curse?” questioned Sirius faintly.  This was the most interesting conversation he had ever had with himself.  It almost seemed real.  Sirius had no idea he had such a fertile imagination.   
          “Yes,” said the hallucination.  “It’s something called a _Time Reverse Curse_ and when it happens everything changes, everything!”   
          Sirius stared at the hallucination.  He had never heard of such a curse.  How had his imagination come up with it?  
          “Well?” insisted the hallucination.  “Will you help me?”  
          “Why—” Sirius stopped not sure how to complete the question:  Why have I come up with such a thing; why am I having such weird conversations with myself; why would I bother asking myself for help?…  
          “Because you’re Cousin Harry’s Godfather!” asserted the hallucination.  “I thought for sure you’d want to help him!”  
          “Harry’s dead,” said Sirius automatically.  Some things couldn’t be changed.  
          “But he isn’t,” said the hallucination earnestly.  “Not really.  That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!  It’s the curse!”   
          Sirius stared at her blankly.  What the heck?  
          “Yesterday,” began the hallucination explaining, “no, it was the day before, no, three days ago now,” she continued correcting herself, “my brother Vernon found a cursed plaque in a tree and touched it…  That’s what started the curse!  It rewound time fixing it so Cousin Harry would loose his fight with the basilisk his second year at Hogwarts…”  
 _“Basilisk?”_ thought Sirius confused.  _“What basilisk?”_   All he had ever heard was that Harry went missing that year and was never found!   
          “But he wasn’t supposed to loose that fight,” the hallucination added.  “There’s another plaque at Hogwarts, you see, and if I can get to it, I can break the curse and return things to the way they’re supposed to be.  That’s why I need your help getting to Hogwarts—so I can help Cousin Harry!”  
          This conversion had gotten way too personal.  Sirius shook his head trying to clear his mind, to erase the hallucination but the hallucination remained, so Sirius spoke.  “A quick jaunt up to Hogwarts may be entertaining, Lily.” he began, his gravelly voice grating on his ears.  “But it won’t fix anything and it won’t bring Harry back to life.  Now, go back to whatever corner of my mind you came from and leave me to my butterbeer.”  He turned his back on the hallucination and staggered towards the kitchen to the icebox, which he knew would be well stocked with butterbeer.  
          Abruptly his forward motion was arrested by a firm grasp on his wrist that wheeled him around forcing him to again face the hallucination.  _“What the?”_ thought Sirius in surprise.  Hallucinations weren’t in the habit of grabbing were they?  Then he felt a heavy weight suddenly come down hard on his bare foot.   Looking down, he saw the hallucination’s shoe lifting off his foot.  “Hey!” he said in shock, looking up at the hallucination.  “You stepped on me!”   
           The hallucination’s dirty face looked back and her green eyes blazed at him.  “I’m _not_ Lily Evans!” she stormed, “and I’m _not_ some fantasy!  I’m _real_ and I’m here and I need help!”  The next thing Sirius knew two very real feeling arms wrapped around his body and the “hallucination” began crying uncontrollably.  “I’m not lying, Mr. Black, honest” the figure sobbed into his chest.   “Cousin Harry’s alive, or, he should be, and right now my brother Vernon is tied up in this horrible chair starving to death but if I can get to the trophy room in time I can help him, help us all!”   
          Of their own accord Sirius’ arms hugged the “hallucination” back and he found his hands unconsciously stroking her blonde hair in an attempt to soothe her and stop the tears.  All along his mind was working furiously.  If she wasn’t a hallucination, that made her real, and from the outside world!  That just wasn’t possible because of where he lived.  Sirius coughed and tried to clear his throat again.  “I, uh, believe we got off on the wrong foot,” he began softly while trying to ignore the pain of his own foot.  Speaking louder hurt his head and his throat.  “My name is Sirius Black and you are?”   
          The girl drew away from him while she sniffed, wiped her tear-stained face with a dirty blue sleeve and gulped.  Then she looked up at him.  “My name is Holly, Holly Wycliff,” she replied.  
          “And you are not a hallucination?” Sirius queried gently while looking directly into her green eyes still glistening with tears.  
          “No, sir, I’m not,” replied Holly firmly her direct look at him never wavering.  
          “Would you like to come inside for some tea and maybe something to eat?” he asked her using his most courteous voice.  They were already inside, but good manners always made a difference.  
          “I would like that very much,” she replied quietly.

********************

          “Come with me,” said Sirius starting down the long hall.  It was a bit of a hike to get to the kitchen, but it was the only place he knew of where he could find actual food.  Sirius wrapped his wet frayed house robe tighter around his body wishing he had a belt.  He was acutely aware of how he must look to her with his tangled gray hair, bare feet, and filthy pajamas; he hadn’t bothered to bathe or clean up in years and probably looked it.  In fact, the only thing he wore that gleamed shiny and clean was the silver collar in the shape of a single serpent that twisted snugly around his neck.  He would have removed the collar from his neck in an instant if he could.  “I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting company this early,” he told her by way of an apology for his appearance.  
          “That’s O.K.,” said Holly politely, “I should have called first to warn you.”  
          “Where did you get this address?” Sirius asked as casually as he could while they walked.  His steps were unsteady and his hand frequently rested against the wall between the age-blackened portraits to keep from falling.  Sirius knew nothing about _Time Reverse Curses_ , but he did know it took a Secret Keeper to get to his house.  There weren’t many people who knew the location of this place but each would delight in playing a cruel joke at his expense.  Someone set Holly up with this story and his address.  Making the girl look like Lily reduced the number of people capable of playing this particular joke to a small handful.  Sirius turned those names over in his mind his mind trying to shake off the last effects of the butterbeer while he listened to her talk.  
          “Cousin Harry gave it to me last year,” she said simply.  “He said I was family and could come and visit any time,” she added explaining further.  
          Sirius worked on keeping his balance while listening.  Holly reached out suddenly and grabbed Sirius’ hand steadying him.  It was almost as if she knew he had been about to fall.   
          “Thanks,” he mumbled.   
          “No problem,” replied Holly easily.  She continued to provide Sirius support while they walked.  
          “Visit?” Sirius inquired when they reached the open doors at the end of the hall. The girl was plainly serious about the curse stuff but her story didn’t fit the facts.  Harry wasn’t family—not in the sense that would gain him access to the Black Family home; he was not related to the Blacks at all.  Someone else gave her the address.  That somebody had obviously messed with Holly’s mind, too.  But Sirius had never before had his own invited guest.  It didn’t hurt to humor the girl and hear more.  
          “Yes sir,” replied Holly as they started down a narrow flight of stone steps. Three old-fashioned gas lamps immediately sputtered to life along the walls illuminating the steps.  There was no handrail. Sirius heavily leaned on the girl to keep from falling. “I’ve been here before, you know,” she added as Sirius paused to kick some empty butterbeer bottles out of the way.  They clinked loudly as they bounced and rolled down the stairs coming to rest against other bottles on lower stairs.  “I can tell you about the house if you’d like.”  
          That didn’t mean much as anyone who had been here could describe the house’s interior.  But Sirius liked to listen to the sound of Holly’s voice so he nodded his head and encouraged her to continue talking.  
          “The dining room is on the first floor,” she said, “back the way we came.  The kitchen is through that door, of course,” she added pointing down the stairs in the direction they were headed.  “And in the hall near the door behind that black curtain is a portrait of a very mean lady who likes to yell obscenities…”  
 _“That’s a fairly accurate description of my mum!”_ thought Sirius in silent agreement not that she yelled much when there were visitors.  They were all Slytherins, her kind of person.  
          The two entered the kitchen.  A single gas lamp suspended high from the ceiling sputtered on providing the only light.  Sirius stared at the surroundings with dismay.  Despite the gloomy shadows he could see the huge cavernous room was filthy.  The floor was littered with empty butterbeer bottles, the long table was filled with unwashed dishes, stacked precariously on top of each other, and dirty pots and pans were piled high on the counters.  There was no fire in the huge fireplace either and the kitchen felt cold and unused. “I, ah, really wasn’t expecting company…” mumbled Sirius apologetically knowing that didn’t excuse the condition of the house.  But he couldn’t bring himself to explain further.  
          Holly nodded wordlessly.  To Sirius’ relief she seemed to accept his explanation without question.  “And upstairs,” she added calmly while continuing her house description as if filthy kitchens were the norm, “there’s a room with the Black family genealogy on the wall but your name’s been blasted off it—I don’t know why, though…”   
          Sirius stepped forward alone using the table for balance when necessary and made his way to the sink on the far side of the table.  Holly carefully followed behind while stepping over filthy rags and more empty butterbeer bottles that were scattered all over the floor.  Sirius turned on the water.  The pipes gave a horrible deathly rattle and lurch.  Then some water, red with rust, trickled out, slowly at first then faster.  It had been a long time since he had turned on the water.  Usually, when Sirius got thirsty, he just grabbed another butterbeer…  
          “…and there’s a portrait upstairs in the hall of a really nice gentleman who used to be Headmaster at Hogwarts!” Holly said loudly talking over the sound of the running water.  
          “I would have never described Phineas Black that way,” replied Sirius.  The water from the tap finally started running clear.  Sirius turned off the water.  
          “Well,” amended Holly with a smile, “at least he’s nice to me.”  
          “Look,” said Sirius uncomfortably as he faced Holly, “I know I said “tea,” but to be honest, I don’t know where the tea is and haven’t any way to make it hot…”  
          “That’s O.K.,” replied Holly gravely.  “Plain water is just fine.”  
          “Thanks,” said Sirius relieved.  He moved over to one of the cupboards by the sink.  “By the way,” he added as he opened the cupboard looking for something he could use for cups, “Phineas’ portrait hangs in the Dining Room over the fireplace.” The people who knew the location of his home, the ones he suspected of doing this, knew where Phineas’ portrait hung.  Strange she would make such a mistake.  
          “It does?” said Holly, sounding surprised.  “Well, _they_ kept it in the upstairs hall.”  
          “Who?” inquired Sirius.  He pulled out two ugly black glass goblets with silver snakes twisting at the base and stem.  He hated these goblets and had broken them numerous times.  But Kreacher liked the goblets and kept repairing them.  Consequently, they were fairly clean and rather dust free.   
          “Cousin Harry,” replied Holly matter-of-factly while she watched Sirius rub the dust from a goblet using a cleaner section of his robe.  “He lives here with his family.”  
          “He does?”  Sirius asked curiously as he shoved aside some dishes on the counter.  Then he set the goblet down on the counter and started cleaning the next.   
          “Of course,” replied Holly.  “He inherited it from his Godfa—” suddenly the girl’s face turned white.  “Oh no!” she exclaimed.  
          “What?”  
          “That’s you!” she declared extremely distressed.  “That means you’re dead!!!  You’ve died in my world!  I’ve got to go!” Holly said abruptly heading towards the kitchen door.  “I can’t ask you for help!  That’s like asking you to kill yours—”  
          Sirius reached out and grabbed Holly’s arm pulling her to a standstill dropping the goblet in the process.  It fell with a loud crash.  “I loved James and Lily Potter,” he told her fiercely tightening his grip on her arm until the blood drained from his fingers.  “I would have given my life to save them if I could have and I would have done no less for little Harry!”  His eyes found hers.  “Even … now!”  She met his gaze fearlessly studying him as if she could see into his very soul.  Then the moment passed and Sirius was suddenly aware of how tightly he had been gripping her arm.  He let go abruptly; Holly’s arm dropped limply to her side and he could feel the blood rush quickly to his fingertips again. “Sorry about that,” he said self-consciously wriggling the fingers in his hand to bring back the circulation.   
          Holly nodded briefly acknowledging his apology.  “Sorry about the goblet,” she said apologetically looking at the bits of broken black glass scattered over the floor.  
          “Don’t worry about it,” said Sirius dismissively.  He found a dirty towel on the counter and used it to brush away the nearby shards before walking back to the cupboard.  “Kreacher will fix it, he always does.”  He pulled out another goblet from the set and hastily wiped it off.  
          “You say Harry inherited the house?” he asked as he returned to the tap and filled the goblet with water.  Holly nodded.  That would explain how Harry had become a Secret Keeper and lent credibility to her original curse story, except… “I’ve uh, never written a will,” Sirius stated out loud while he held out the goblet to the girl.  He noted a bit of red on her hand while she took the goblet.  It looked vaguely familiar but he couldn’t quite place it.  
          “Thank you,” said Holly softly.  Sirius filled another goblet with water for himself and set it down on the counter.  He wasn’t thirsty.  Holly lifted the goblet to her lips and emptied it quickly.  When she had finished she said, “I expect you wrote a will after you escaped from Azkaban Prison.”  She handed the goblet back to Sirius, a mute request for more water.  
          Sirius gripped Holly’s goblet tightly.  “I escaped?” he said in surprise.  “How????”  
          “I don’t know, sir, but you did,” answered Holly.  “I also know you weren’t guilty of whatever you were convicted of.  They tried to clear your name, but you, uh, died first…” her voice trailed off guiltily.  
          “That’s O.K.,” replied Sirius sounding calmer than he felt.  He refilled the goblet.  “At least Harry knew,” he added as he handed the goblet back to Holly.   
          “Yes, he did,” echoed Holly taking the goblet.  She drank the water down swiftly and handed the goblet again to Sirius.  He refilled it and returned the goblet to Holly.  This time she took a small sip and just held the container.   
          “Tell me about Harry,” Sirius asked conversationally as he moved to the icebox.  “What’s he like?”  
          “Quiet,” replied Holly thoughtfully.  She had followed him to the icebox and stood behind him while he talked. “And very polite.”  
          “And his looks?”  
          “Um, tall, thin, glasses…” began Holly.  “He looks a lot like his dad in that Phoenix photo, ‘cept for that scar…  You’re in it too,” she added thoughtfully. “The photo,” she explained.  “I should have recognized you from it.  But, you’re, um, different,” Holly concluded sorrowfully.  
          “That was a long time ago,” replied Sirius remembering.  They had all been so young, so hopeful then.  Odd, he hadn’t realized the Death Eaters had a copy of that photo; they’d never mentioned it before.  
          There wasn’t much in the icebox by the way of food.  But there was always something.  Sirius and Kreacher had come to an understanding about that.  Kreacher kept the icebox stocked with butterbeer and Sirius ate the solid food he found in the icebox.  Not a lot of it, but enough to keep him alive.  Sirius pushed aside the bottles of butterbeer and found a plate filled with pasties.  
          “You said he had a family?” Sirius asked changing the subject.  He pulled out a pasty and handed it to Holly taking a second one for him to be polite.  
          “Yes sir,” replied Holly.  She set her goblet down on the counter and took the pasty in her right hand.  Sirius could see more of that red mark.  Where had he seen it before?  Holly looked at the pasty uncertainly.  Then she spoke, “Ginny’s his wife,” she said distractedly still staring at the pasty.  The girl suddenly took a deep breath, closed her eyes and took a huge bite out of the pasty swallowing it quickly.  Then she looked up at Sirius and smiled.  “Delicious!” she said happily and took another bite.  Sirius took a bite out of his pasty:  meat and potatoes, rather bland and dry.  No big deal.  The girl must be starved to enjoy it so much.    
          “He has three kids, James, Albus and Lily,” Holly added in between bites finishing the pasty quickly.  “James is the eldest.  Albus is my age and Lily starts Hogwarts this fall.”  Holly suddenly reddened remembering and added, “or she would have if… well, you know…”  
          “Yes,” murmured Sirius dismissively, “if it weren’t for the curse.”  Someone put a lot of work into this curse story.  He wondered why?  Sirius pulled another pasty off the plate and handed it to Holly.  His eyes returned curiously to that red mark which showed more prominently on her hand as she took it.  Suddenly Sirius remembered where he had seen it—  “You’re a Muggle!” he said in shock.  
          Her glance followed his. “No, sir, I’m not,” she replied turning her hand so he could look at the mark.  “But my parents are,” she added solemnly.  “And so’s Vernon, my brother.”  Holly held her hand out so Sirius could see the mark better.  “Ravindra did that,” she explained.  “It’s pretty good, don’t you think?”  Holly tipped her hand back looking at the mark again.  “It got me safely out of Aylesbury,” she added.  “They weren’t expecting me to have one,” she mused.   “Ravindra’s really smart,” continued Holly while staring at the mark.  “She’s Ravenclaw, you know—or should be.  She should be at Hogwarts training to be an Auror but she’s got one of these marks too—only it’s black.   Now she’s on the streets lucky just to be alive!”   Holly looked up at Sirius.  The tears in her eyes spilled down her cheeks.  “It isn’t fair what they’re doing to the Mudbloods!  It just isn’t!”  
          Sirius looked at Holly thoughtfully while taking a second bite of his pasty.  This story was too detailed, too elaborate, with too many facets.  None of the Death Eaters had this kind of imagination not even Voldemort.  Voldemort!  “What about Voldemort?” he asked suddenly watching her closely.  
          Holly looked up at him in surprise. “I thought we weren’t supposed to say that name here,” she said.  
          “ _I_ say it,” Sirius firmly said with growing interest.  She not only knew who he was but hadn’t flinched when he said Voldemort’s name!  Not a bit!  
          “Oh,” said Holly calmly. “Well, Cousin Harry defeated Lord Voldemort ages ago.”  
          Sirius stared at Holly.  It wasn’t the news of Voldemort’s defeat that gave him pause.  A story of Voldemort’s death fit with the basic curse scenario she had been telling him.  If Harry were still alive when Voldemort returned, Voldemort would have killed him at the first opportunity; Harry was proof of Voldemort’s fallibility.  For Harry to live Voldemort would have had to die.  It was the ease at which Holly said Lord Voldemort’s name!   
          Sirius had been saying Voldemort’s name defiantly for years.  But no one else did.  None of the other Death Eaters called Voldemort by name and they flinched or hissed angrily whenever Sirius said it.  The Death Eaters had spent hours casting the _Cruciatus Curse_ on Sirius in an effort to teach him “proper respect” for their lord and master.  Sirius doubted the same people would have ever taught this girl to say Voldemort’s name easily, even for a joke.  And the other views she had expressed—they weren’t the views of any Death Eater.  And if they hadn’t sent her, that meant perhaps…  
          “How come you know about this curse when no one else does?” Sirius asked her sharply, actively seeking holes in her story, the effects of the butterbeer totally forgotten.  
          “Dumbledore,” replied Holly promptly.  “We figure he put spells around my family to protect them while they were raising Cousin Harry.  Dumbledore’s spells must have protected me from the curse, too.”  
          “We?”   
          “Well, that’s what Cousin Harry guessed happened,” amended Holly.  
          Sirius stared at Holly in disbelief.  “You knew about this curse and didn’t do anything?”  
          It was Holly’s turn to look down.  “My first year at Hogwarts,” she began softly, “Albus found a plaque in the trophy room and touched it setting off the curse.  It only works on Cousin Harry or Potter relatives with green eyes, you see.”  Holly looked up at Sirius with her green eyes and he could see more tears streaming freely down her face.  “That’s how I know about the curse and the trophy room!  But we didn’t know there were _two_ plaques!  I swear!”  Holly took a deep breath and then continued.  “Mr. Black,” she pleaded.  “I know about the curse and how to break it because I’ve done it before.  But I’ve got to get to Hogwarts to do it!”  
          “I can’t help you!” Sirius said bluntly before he lost the courage to tell her.  It wasn’t fair to lead her on like this, let her think he could help when he couldn’t.  “I’d like to, I really would,” he added quickly. “But I’ve no wand so I can’t take you.  I could show you the way,” he added before she could respond, “but every time I leave this place _they_ find me and bring me back!”  His hand unconsciously reached up and touched the hated silver snake collar around his neck as he spoke.  “If you left with me, they’d find you too…”  Holly didn’t say a word; she just stared intently at him with her green eyes.  Sirius felt the need to say more.  “I, uh, never escaped from Azkaban Prison,” he said apologetically.  “It may not look like it but I’m still a prisoner…”


	17. Chapter 17

          Sirius Black lost all will to live when they told him Harry Potter had died.  He lay listlessly in his cell day after day waiting to die.  But he didn’t.  When Sirius next recovered his senses, he discovered the dementors were gone and he was in Lucius Malfoy’s cellar.  The Great Azkaban Prison Escape had occurred and the escaping Death Eaters had taken Sirius along!  They were well aware Sirius did not support Voldemort but realized others would question Sirius’ guilt and might free him if Sirius conspicuously remained behind in prison during their escape.  
          Voldemort was loathed to kill a “pure blood” but he did not want Sirius loose to aid those who would oppose him.  So Sirius remained a prisoner in the Malfoy cellar.  Sirius bided his time and one day, when the security seemed more lax, he made a quick rush and raced out of the mansion before anyone had a chance to stop him.  Once outside he made even faster time after he changed into a dog…  
          But Sirius hadn’t counted on the differences he encountered on the outside.  Both Wizards and Muggles were actively seeking a “recently” escaped mass murderer named Sirius Black and the wanted posters included a surprisingly up-to-date looking photo of Sirius.  Those who opposed Voldemort knew Sirius only as the traitor who had betrayed James and Lily Potter.  Close friends of Sirius, who he might have convinced otherwise, were dead.  Death Eaters circled the outskirts of London in search of Sirius while preventing his escape into the countryside.  To make matters worse, the Muggles were out in full force rounding up all stray dogs in an effort to make the streets safer—apparently a huge black dog had mauled and killed a Muggle child…  
          Finally an exhausted discouraged Sirius retreated to the steps of his hated house where he knew he could at least get a decent night’s sleep and safely make plans for the next day…  He didn’t see the rat that waited near the doorsteps and crept into the home with him—hadn’t known Pettigrew was still alive, still willing to betray the secret location of yet another home…  
          It had been an easy matter to recapture Sirius after that.  Sirius later learned the Death Eaters had deliberately let him escape, deliberately kept him on the run without actually capturing him in the hopes that Sirius would eventually lead them to his home.  Narcissa had wanted her cellar back.  As the Minister of Magic’s wife, she wanted to entertain without fear of anyone discovering embarrassing secrets in her home.  Consequently, they needed a new place to keep Sirius.  
          Lord Voldemort confronted Sirius the next day with that horrible snake Nagini wrapped securely around Sirius’s struggling body and Death Eaters, who all now knew the location of the Black family residence, standing victoriously on either side.  “Surely you can see there is no hope in this battle,” Voldemort told Sirius persuasively.  “Your friends have all died.  You are alone.  Join us and be free,” he whispered.  But Sirius had defiantly refused, willing to die rather than join the ranks of the Death Eaters.  Lord Voldemort smiled tolerantly at Sirius’ response.  The other Death Eaters had laughed while Voldemort lazily pointed his wand at Sirius…  
          But instead of death, the wand whirled through the air and a streak of what looked like molten silver hung shining in the wand’s wake.  Momentarily shapeless, it writhed and then formed itself into a gleaming snake.  The silver snake twisted effortlessly in the air.  Its head turned towards Sirius and regarded him with its glittering green eyes.   It hissed loudly opening its jaws wide revealing sharp needlelike fangs. But instead of biting him, the snake soared downward and wound its silvery body around Sirius’ neck like a noose.  The Death Eaters laughed again.  Nagini slowly unwound itself from around Sirius' body and returned to Voldemort’s side.  Sirius’ hands immediately flew to his neck to remove the silver snake.  But the snake had become a solid band and all Sirius’ strength could not move it.   
          A smile of satisfaction played on Lord Voldemort’s lips as he watched Sirius’ useless efforts.  “I am not the monster you suppose,” he whispered as he returned his wand to its place.  “I would not needlessly spill pure blood.  Perhaps some day you will learn the error of your ways.”   With that, Lord Voldemort and Nagini vanished.  The other Death Eaters vanished too, leaving Sirius alone in the house.  
          Sirius abandoned his attempts to remove the silver snake and instead headed for the door.  He opened it easily but the moment his foot touched the front step Sirius unexpectedly morphed into his huge dog shape!  Nor could he return at will to his human shape!   Deciding to worry about that later, Sirius ran.  He ran and ran and ran until he could run no more.  
          Finally, Sirius had to stop and rest.  Panting heavily he took stock of his surroundings.  Surely no one would find him here.  He wasn’t even sure where he was.  But scarce ten minutes had elapsed when Sirius heard a loud  _“crack!”_     
 _“Stupefy!”_ came a familiar hated voice.  The spell immediately froze Sirius in place.  A slender hand reached out and grabbed the snakelike collar.  At the touch the snake tightened its grip around Sirius’ neck uncomfortably almost choking him.  “You mustn’t run out and about like this,” said Bellatrix pleasantly while she held onto the collar.  “There are leash laws you know!  You could get captured by Muggles and killed!”  And Bellatrix Apparated the two back to the house where Sirius immediately regained his human form and the freezing spell broke enabling Sirius to move again.  
          Bellatrix released her hold on the snake at Sirius’ neck and Apparated out of the house leaving Sirius alone on the floor still scrambling to his feet.   When rested, Sirius left the house again.  Again he turned into a dog.  This time Sirius kept to a slow steady pace at a speed calculated to eat up kilometers without loosing energy.  He got much further than before, but the moment he stopped to rest, Bellatrix appeared to bring him “home…”  Again and again Sirius tried to leave but always Bellatrix found him and dragged him back.  
          “Don’t you get it?” laughed Bellatrix after numerous forced returns.  “You can run as far as you like, but you can’t leave, ever!”  She deposited Sirius unceremoniously on the entry floor.  “Our Lord said you may _live_ , not be free— _that_ gift of his you refused!”  
          “Then kill me and be done with it!” snarled Sirius furiously.   
          “Why would I do that?” she asked pleasantly.  “Our Lord said you must be spared because of your blood.  He says you’re a _harmless_ pureblood.  Who am I to disagree?”  She leaned closer to Sirius poking her wand firmly into his throat.  “Besides,” she added sweetly while pushing him to the floor with her wand, “it’s fun to watch you fight.”  Sirius made a grab for her wand but she was ready leaping free of his body and grasp.   
          “Want to play?” she asked pointing her wand again at him.  Sirius charged her.  Bellatrix backed away quickly shouting _“Crucio!”_   When the spell ended, Sirius was again helpless on the floor too weak to move.  “We can continue this another day,” said Bellatrix cheerfully while returning her wand to its place, “when I have more time.”  And Bellatrix Apparated out of the house.   
          Sirius next tried to get a wand intending to use it to escape.  With great care he finally succeeded in snatching Pettigrew’s wand and immediately turned the wand on himself, on the snake, to be exact, casting his best destructive spell.  Sirius succeeded only in blasting himself into unconsciousness at which point Pettigrew casually retrieved his wand.   
          Voldemort later laughed as he told Sirius that any spell strong enough to destroy the snake would no doubt kill Sirius as well.  In any event, getting a wand without destroying the snake wasn’t much help to Sirius.  While the snake remained around his neck Sirius continually morphed into a dog the moment he left the house.  And as a dog, he couldn’t use a wand.   
           Unable to get free of the house, and unable to live with imprisonment whilst others around him died fighting, Sirius sought other means of escape.  One night he grabbed a knife, found a quiet corner and slit his wrists.  He was found too soon and nursed back to health.  After that all the knives in the house were removed along with the ropes, belts and anything else that Sirius might use against himself.  By use of the _Imperio_ spell, Kreacher was enlisted to keep an eye on Sirius.  “I _order_ you—” Sirius was forced to say, “to do whatever is necessary to keep me alive including ignoring any orders I may give to the contrary from this point on!”  
          “He’s crazy!”  Bellatrix explained sorrowfully to Kreacher.  “All those years in Azkaban Prison have wrecked his mind and made him sick!” never mentioning that _she_ had spent just as much time in Azkaban as he.  Kreacher had nodded in understanding.  “But he’s family,” continued Bellatrix oozing false concern, “and we must take care of him.  _You_ must take care of him!  Watch him closely—see that he doesn’t hurt himself.”  Kreacher obeyed enthusiastically.  When Sirius refused to eat, Kreacher forced the food down his throat.  When Sirius, as a dog, rushed into the path of a speeding truck, Kreacher was there to stop the truck and pull Sirius to safety.  
          But Kreacher did more at Bellatrix’s bidding.  “It would be such an _embarrassment_ to the family should Sirius attack another Wizard while under his crazed delusions,” explained Bellatrix to Kreacher.  “And the Dark Lord has assured me that he would surely kill Sirius should Sirius harm one of his friends.  Help me keep Sirius from doing something stupid that might get him killed…”  
          “But how will I know if he is planning something stupid?” asked Kreacher worried.   
          “Let me know if Sirius says or does anything suspicious,” replied Bellatrix sweetly.  “I’ll help you decide…”   
          And Kreacher became their spy and assistant.  When Sirius carried warning messages of planned Death Eater activities in his mouth to give to wizards in the street, Bellatrix was there to get the messages first.  When Sirius, in desperation, tried to get his hands around the throat of the nearest Death Eater, it was Kreacher who pulled them apart.  There was nothing Sirius could do to stop Kreacher and nothing Kreacher wouldn’t do to keep Sirius alive.  
          By the time the Death Eaters began to use Sirius’ house for their meetings they had come to regard Sirius with mild disgust or amusement.  To them, Sirius was nothing but an annoying gnat to be brushed aside.  Sirius had only his acid tongue and wit to use hoping his words would inflame a Death Eater enough to kill.  He got tortured and punished a lot.  But no matter what Sirius said or did, they would not kill him.  They always stopped short of death.  Voldemort let Sirius live sensing that, for Sirius, life was a greater punishment than any death.  Sirius unwillingly became the only man in the Wizard world who did not fear death at the hands of the Dark Lord.

********************

          “I could draw a map to Hogwarts,” said Sirius to Holly.  His voice trailed off.  “I know that’s not much but—”   
          “A map would be very useful,” agreed Holly solemnly.  “Thank you.”  
          She seemed to accept that he was a prisoner without argument or question.  Sirius was relieved to not have to explain further, but her very acceptance made Sirius feel even worse.  Never had he felt so helpless.  He cast about for ideas of other ways he could help…  “And I can tell you some of the magical enchantments and defenses you might expect to encounter along the way,” he added hopefully.  “It won’t be totally accurate, but it might be better than nothing.”  
          “That would be of immense help,” agreed Holly watching him with her green eyes.  
          “And money!” said Sirius with more enthusiasm.  “You’ll need some money!  I’m sure I can find some around in this place!  You can take whatever you need!  Don’t say no!” he added quickly sensing she might be too proud to take money.  “It’s not like I need any of it!  And if we can’t find any money, there’re some antiques around, small ones you can take along for trade…  I don’t want them!” he assured her.  “They’ll do you more good than me!”   
          For the first time in ages, Sirius actually had purpose—something to do…  What else would she need?  Food!  Of course!  “I’ve plenty of food in the icebox too,” he added eagerly.  “It’s not the greatest but it’ll keep and you can take it all with you.  Don’t worry about me,” he added noting the concerned look on Holly’s face.  “Kreacher will restock it.  And we can find you a jug or two for wat—”  
          “Kreacher!” said Holly suddenly.  
          “What?” said Sirius blankly.  
          “Kreacher!” repeated Holly.  “Kreacher can take me to Hogwarts!”  
          “Kreacher?” questioned Sirius.  “No, he can’t.  He’s just a house elf.”  
          “Of course he can!” replied Holly firmly.  “He’s done it before!  I saw him!  He brought me a book from this house to Hogwarts the, uh, the last time this happened.”  
          Sirius stared at Holly with growing wonderment.  He did?  Could it be true?  If so, that would mean house elves had magic that did not work in the same way as wizard magic!  That opened up all sorts of possibilities!  Sirius had never thought to order Kreacher to remove his hated collar!  _“Perhaps he could!”_ Sirius thought with growing excitement!  _“Perhaps we could both go to Hogwarts!”_  
          But before he could explore this new idea further, Holly suddenly turned her head to the kitchen entrance and announced, “Somebody’s coming.”  
          What???  How the heck???  Sirius turned his head in time to see a tall witch with heavily hooded eyes and thick shining black hair swirled up in an elegant bun sweep swiftly into the kitchen.   She strode past the table stopping just out of range in front of them, her wand extended warily.  
           “Well, well, well!” said Bellatrix cheerfully.  “When Kreacher said you were entertaining so early in the morning, I didn’t believe him.  I shall have to apologize.”  She pointed her wand menacingly at Holly and demanded, “Who are you?”

********************

          Bellatrix looked positively regal in her dark violet dressing gown.  But her hooded eyes had that crazed fanatical look she’d gotten ever since her escape from Azkaban.  Of all the Death Eaters, Bellatrix was the most volatile and the most dangerous.  She was the one Sirius Black had always hoped he could anger enough to kill him.  It had never worked; Bellatrix was too loyal and obedient to Voldemort and Voldemort had decreed Sirius would live.   
          Sirius was in no danger with Bellatrix’s arrival.  She wouldn’t kill Sirius no matter what he said or did.  But Holly was another matter.  Bellatrix would show no restraint in regards to Holly.  As the most devoted of Lord Voldemort’s followers, if Bellatrix perceived Holly to be a threat, Bellatrix would not hesitate to kill her.  Consequently, Sirius had to make Holly appear as harmless as possible, not worth the effort of killing.  Even that might not be enough—Bellatrix often boasted of killing people “just because.”  Sirius knew he had to think fast if he hoped to keep Holly alive.   
          “Oh, put that thing away before you scare her!” said Sirius disarmingly stalling for time.  Sirius kept his voice casual but his heart was racing and he hoped it didn’t show.  If only Sirius could distract Bellatrix long enough to figure how to get Holly out of there!   
          Bellatrix stared at Sirius in surprise.  It was not the response she expected.  
          “Go on!  Put it up!” insisted Sirius.  “It’s not like we’re going anywhere!”  Sirius turned his back on Bellatrix returned his attention to the icebox.  Perhaps he could convince Bellatrix that Holly’s presence in his house was no big deal.   
          “Who is she?” insisted Bellatrix.  Her wand now pointed at Sirius instead of Holly.  
          Sirius gave an exaggerated sigh, stood up with the plate of pasties in his hand and turned to face Bellatrix.  “This is, ah, Mary Smitty,” he began using the first fake name he could think of.   “Mary,” he said continuing the introductions while swaying gently back and forth, “this is my cousin Bellatrix Lestrange.”   
          Holly looked at Bellatrix without expression.  “Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” she said politely and then took a bite of the pasty still in her hand.  
          “Bellatrix likes to drop in unannounced to make sure I’m still _here_ … ”  Sirius added making a vague reference to his prisoner status which he hoped Holly would understand.  Holly’s eyes widened instantly.  Sirius had noticed Holly’s blank expression at Bellatrix’s arrival.  Holly clearly knew nothing about his cousin.  Had he not already seriously thought this curse thing might be true, this would have clinched it.  While Sirius had no idea how much of Bellatrix’s Death Eater activities were known outside these walls, as first lady to the Minister of Magic, Bellatrix was well known in the wizard world.   
          “How did you get in here?”  Bellatrix demanded, her voice icy cold.  She knew, as did Sirius, that Holly had no business being in this house, ought not to have been able to get in without a Death Eater’s help.  
          “We were just getting something to eat for breakfast,” Sirius said before Holly could answer.  “Would you like to join us?” he asked holding out the plate of pasties towards her.  Bellatrix looked at the plate with revulsion.  Without waiting for an answer Sirius took the plate and started walking to the kitchen table.   He deliberately stumbled causing the plate to tip sending the pasties flying.  “Uh, sorry about that,” Sirius mumbled apologetically.  Then he got on the floor and crawled about to pick up the pasties.  He gave each pasty a rudimentary brush off with his hands before returning it to the plate.   
          Sirius used the icebox door handle to pull himself up while still holding the plate.  The pasties slid precariously to the edge of the plate and one of them fell off again while he moved.  Sirius ignored the fallen pasty and stood while leaning on the icebox door instead.  Sirius didn’t need the assist and could have held the plate steady but Bellatrix didn’t know that.  Holly wouldn’t appear harmless unless he did.  
          “Bu’erbeer?” he offered in a deliberately slurred voice while at the icebox.  Bellatrix sniffed in disgust.  Sirius shrugged and belched loudly.  Then he grabbed two bottles of butterbeer and balanced them on the plate with the pasties.  “You’ll like bu’erbeer,” he told Holly conversationally as he again made his way to the table.  This time he put a hand on Holly’s shoulder and leaned on her heavily as if to keep from falling.  She struggled to remain upright.  Actually, Sirius was moving Holly with him away from Bellatrix.  The more distance he could put between them the better.  
          But Bellatrix was not to be distracted.  She stepped forward blocking their way.  “How did you get in here?” she demanded again her wand pointed menacingly at Holly.  
          “I brought her in!” replied Sirius brazenly.  Rather than push past Bellatrix, Sirius guided Holly to the other side of the table.  As he moved he “carelessly” tilted the plate sliding the pasties precariously to the edge and back.  The bottles clinked and tipped; Holly quickly plucked the butterbeer bottles off the plate with her free hand to keep them from falling.  
          “You?” said Bellatrix in disbelief.   
          “Yeah.”  Sirius took stumbling steps with Holly still holding him up.  He moved them both past Bellatrix to the far end of the table, the edge closest to the exit…  
          “How?”  
          “How do you think?” replied Sirius boldly.  “Took her by the wrist and walked her in!”  Sirius released Holly’s shoulder, grabbed her wrist and held it up to illustrate.  At the same time he bared his teeth at Bellatrix and loudly snapped them shut suggestively.  Sirius had no idea if he could have actually brought someone in from the outside that way, but it sounded good and it answered Bellatrix’s question.  
          “Why?” asked Bellatrix suspiciously.  
          “Why not?” retorted Sirius righteously while his mind worked furiously trying to come up with an actual answer.  He let go of Holly, pulled out a chair for her to sit upon and leaned heavily on the chair for support.  “It’s _my_ house and I can invite whom I please inside.”  
          “Thank you,” murmured Holly softly as she sat down.  She shoved some dishes aside and set the butterbeer bottles on the table in front of her.   
          “Have you forgotten the last time?” asked Bellatrix coldly.  She watched warily as Sirius carefully balanced the pasty plate on other dishes already on the table in front of Holly.  Bellatrix’s wand now wavered between the two of them.  Holly took another bite of her pasty while Sirius talked.  
          “No,” replied Sirius hollowly remembering. “I haven’t forgotten.”  Sirius had dropped a note seeking help in front of a Wizard.  The Wizard hadn’t even taken the note seriously but Bellatrix had hunted the man down anyway.  She brought the hapless Wizard into the house so she could torture and kill him in front of Sirius.  Sirius quit hunting out Wizards for help after that; he dug out the knives to take his own life instead.  There was no point in asking others to risk their lives for him and no point in living if he couldn’t be free…   
          “But this is different.”  Sirius insisted.  Holly’s ignorance about Bellatrix had given Sirius an idea—something he could try to keep Bellatrix off track… If only Holly didn’t say anything to blow it.  
          “How?”  
 _“I’m_ doing the inviting,” replied Sirius coldly.  “And she doesn’t know anything.”  
          “So?”  
          “She’s Muggle,” said Sirius flatly.  Bellatrix’s eyes immediately glanced down to Holly’s hand seeking confirmation.  “She won’t be leaving the house so she can’t do anything,” continued Sirius.  
          Bellatrix snorted in disbelief.  “Not leaving?  Right!”  
          “She’s a street girl,” Sirius insisted.  “No family; no home; no money.  There’s nothing for her out there.  We were working out the details when you came in.  She gets food, clothing, shelter, a place to sleep and I get—”  
          “Yes,” said Bellatrix drawing closer until she stood directly across from Sirius on the other side of the table.  “What do you get out of this?”  
          “I get companionship!”  
          Bellatrix laughed merrily.  “You!” she said derisively dropping her wand.   
          “Me!” replied Sirius firmly noting the dropped wand with satisfaction.  “I’m tired, Bell,” he added in a serious tone.  “And lonely.”  
          Bellatrix turned her eyes appraisingly at Holly.  “She’s too young for you!”  
          “She’ll grow,” retorted Sirius.  He hoped Holly didn’t take all this the wrong way.  She’d been quiet so far but would it last?  “It’s a big house,” added Sirius expansively, “and I’m all alone.  Why not share the space?”  
          Bellatrix leaned forward over the table.  “It’s not permitted,” she stated coldly.  
          Sirius leaned across the table meeting her eye to eye.  “Why?” he countered.  “ _He_ said I couldn’t leave but I don’t recall him ever saying I couldn’t have company…  Why don’t you … ask … _him?_ ”  If only she would.  Then Bellatrix would be out of the house long enough for Sirius to get Holly out…  
          “Where do I sleep?” interrupted Holly loudly.  She sounded just like a petulant teen concerned most with the basic necessities.  Holly had finished her pasty and was reaching for another.  
          “What?” said Sirius looking down at Holly momentarily forgetting his own tale.  “Oh, yes.  It’s upstairs, this way,” he said.  He was relieved to note that while Holly may not know what was going on, she seemed to be following his lead.  Holly stood.  Sirius looked over at Bellatrix.  “Why don’t you just check with Voldemort—” Bellatrix hissed warningly at the mention of his name while Sirius merely grinned at her.  He could always get Bellatrix’s goat by using that name!  “—while I show, uh, Mary, here the rest of the house.  You needn’t hurry,” he admonished dismissing Bellatrix.  “Come on!” he said to Holly.  Holly stepped back from her seat.  The two of them turned and started to leave.  
          “Wait!” came Bellatrix’s commanding voice.  Holly and Sirius froze in place and turned back to look at Bellatrix.  Her wand was again extended threateningly.  “Security is looking for a witch,” she said staring intently at Holly.  “A young witch with brown hair and green eyes…”  
          “They are?” asked Sirius in a casual voice.  “I wouldn’t know about that.  I don’t get Alerts here.  And I never read them while outside—they’re too depressing!”  What did they know?  It couldn’t be everything or Bellatrix wouldn’t act so casual… Sirius set one hand on the table.  He slid his other hand down to below the edge of the table that stood between him and Bellatrix.  
          “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you, _Mary_?” continued Bellatrix suspiciously, her wand spiraling lazily in small circles while directed at Holly’s face.  Sirius slid his other hand to under the table also.  His fingers gripped the edge of the table tensely.  
          “Witch?” asked Holly her voice sounding properly confused.  “The Alerts only talk about Terrorists and Murderers, ma’am.”  That was the correct response for a Muggle.  Holly’s left hand slid under the table.  
          “So they do,” agreed Bellatrix, “but I wonder…” she mused.  “Her photo looks a lot like you, if it weren’t for the hair…”  Bellatrix’s gaze dropped lower until it rested on Holly’s hand, which still held a pasty—her red Muggle mark showing prominently.  _“Terego!”_ she suddenly shouted aiming her wand at Holly’s hand.   
          At the same time, Sirius heaved with all his might lifting the kitchen table to its side.  Holly joined him helping him push the underside of the table up. The two of them shoved the upended table onto Bellatrix.   
          Sirius grabbed Holly’s hand as the table fell and pulled her with him out of the kitchen and into the stairway.  “KREACHER!” he shouted as he released Holly’s hand and pulled the doors to the kitchen shut. “COME HERE NOW!” he commanded.  Behind the doors he could hear a loud screech of rage coming from Bellatrix.  
          An ancient looking house-elf, completely naked, except for the filthy rag tied like a loincloth around its middle appeared.  Its skin hung in massive folds upon its body and it had white hair growing out of its large batlike ears.  He looked at Sirius with intense loathing.  
          “Nasty ungrateful swine who lives only becau—”  
          “Kreacher, lock the kitchen door!” ordered Sirius.  He had no time to listen to the usual filth that came out of Kreacher’s mouth.   
          Kreacher immediately pointed his hand at the door and a resounding clunk of a lock being turned sounded.  Then Kreacher turned his ugly bloodshot, watery gray eyes on Sirius and said in a hoarse deep croaking voice, “Kreacher obey Master because the order not harmful but what would my poor Mistress say if she saw how Master was treating his beloved fam—”  
          “Do you see this girl?” interrupted Sirius seizing Holly’s wrist and pulling her near.  
          “Kreacher see the filth off the street that pollutes this house with her presen—”  
          “Well I want you to take her to Hogwarts do you understand?  Can you do that?”  Sirius hoped this crazy idea of Holly’s worked because he had no idea what to try next.  
          “Kreacher can willingly remove the Mudblood slime from the house.  That would make the Mistress happy.  Yes indeed.”  
 _Mudblood!_   Kreacher had been listening!  “Kreacher,” said Sirius with sudden urgency, “I _order_ you to not repeat anything that was said between the two of us!  Do you understand?”  
          “Kreacher understand the vile words coming out of Master’s mouth; swine of a Master not fit to live in Mis—”   
          “And I _order_ you to tell no one, _no one_ where you have taken her!” continued Sirius ignoring Kreacher’s words.  None of this conflicted with earlier orders concerning Sirius so Kreacher would have no excuse to refuse.  “Do you understand?”  In the background, behind the locked doors, Sirius could hear more shouts and the heavy thuds of moving furniture.  
          Kreacher tipped his large fleshy snout-like nose at Holly.  “Kreacher understand,” he said disdainfully.  “Swine of a Master still prefer presence of filthy Mudblood over better true-blood com—”  
          “And, uh, don’t come back until dark!”  Keeping Kreacher away would keep them guessing what had happened to Holly a bit longer.  Sirius couldn’t order Kreacher to leave forever; he’d tried that before and Kreacher refused citing his need to care for Sirius.  But ordering Kreacher to leave for a day, that might just be possible.  The kitchen doors rattled with a resounding _“BOOM!”_   Time was running out!  “Take her now!” ordered Sirius. “Do you understand?  NOW!”  
          Kreacher flattened his bat-like ears in disgust, grabbed Holly’s hand and the two vanished with a snapping _“crack!”_  
 _“Well I’ll be—it worked!”_ thought Sirius in amazement.   
 _BOOM!_   Huge cracks appeared in the kitchen door.   
          “Time to go!” said Sirius to himself as he started up the steps taking two and three of them at a time.  Bellatrix would be really mad by the time she caught up with him—maybe even mad enough to kill!  One could only hope.  But Sirius couldn’t risk it today.  Today would probably be the one day Bellatrix kept enough control to ask questions instead of killing, questions he didn’t want to answer…   
          Sirius reached the top of the stairs. They’d catch him eventually, he knew that, but Sirius could delay things.  They’d never caught him while he ran—only when he stopped.  If he kept a steady pace, Sirius could run for a long time, maybe a day or two before having to rest, before they would catch him.  Perhaps he could even find a moving train to run into along the way…  
          Sirius slammed the stairwell doors shut behind him as he raced into the long entryway hall.  Hopefully, Bellatrix would be so mad she would storm up the stairs and forget she could Apparate instead…  
          Sirius had almost reached the front door when he heard a loud _“crack”_ behind him.  Not good.  Not good at all.  Bellatrix had Apparated.  Grabbing the heavy troll leg umbrella stand, Sirius heaved it back toward Bellatrix.  Without waiting to see if it connected, Sirius grabbed handle of the doorknob and turned.  For the second time that day, the door opened.  Sirius could feel the outside air blow onto his face.  He stepped through the doorway without hesitation slamming the door shut behind him.  It had been a long time since Sirius had seen the sun and felt the wind on his back; he planned to make the most of it.

********************

          Holly swayed, disoriented from the effects of Apparating.  As she stood, she heard the distinct chirp of birds.  Startled, Holly opened her eyes and looked around.  Morning sunlight streamed through the leaves of towering trees casting a dappled pattern on her and the ground around.  This was _not_ Hogwarts!   
          Kreacher released his grip on Holly’s wrist.  He turned his large fleshy snout-like nose and bloodshot eyes to Holly.  “Kreacher obey unworthy Master who is not fit to wipe my beloved Mistress’ feet.”  His bat-like ears flattened in disgust when he said the word “Master.”  “Blood-traitor Master order Kreacher to take filthy Mudblood slime to Hogwarts,” he added with hatred oozing from every pore, “but he didn’t say _where_ at Hogwarts!” he finished maliciously.   With that he vanished with a loud whip like _“crack!”_   leaving Holly all alone.   
          Behind, where Kreacher had been, Holly could now see a huge set of magnificently wrought iron gates flanked with stone columns topped with winged boars.  The gates were closed but looked vaguely familiar.  Holly turned around and followed the road beneath the gates with her eyes.  At the end of a long sloping drive in the distance she spied the Hogwarts castle!  Kreacher _had_ taken her to Hogwarts!  Hogwarts grounds that is.  Holly sighed and started up the road.  She nibbled on the pasty she found she was still holding in her hand as she walked and puzzled on the strange nature of Kreacher.  He never looked or acted so hateful when she had met him before.  What had happened to change him so?


	18. Chapter 18

          Roland leaned back against the wall and idly listened to the traffic sounds on the street outside Grimmauld Place.  There wasn’t any action at all within Grimmauld place itself.  He had just finished reciting to himself the seventeenth chapter of the _Non Security Code_ and was about to begin the eighteenth when a huge black dog suddenly appeared leaping in the middle of Grimmauld Place.  It hadn’t been there earlier nor had Roland heard or seen a door open to let it out.   
          Without pausing, the dog raced down the street passing Roland.  Roland followed the dog with his eyes while turning his head.  Suddenly the sky went dark.  A huge gray-black cloud with silvery sparks appeared at the end of the street.  Unable to slow down in time the dog ran straight into the cloud.  But it wasn’t a cloud.  It was a wall!  The dog crashed and bounced off with a surprised “Yelp!” and sparks of light glittered at the point of impact.    
          Roland stared at the wall in confusion as he watched the sparks die out.  He had never seen anything like it before.  The cloud/wall was solid black in colour at the ground and gradually grew to a dark gray the higher it rose.  The huge dog ignored the wall, changed directions and raced down one of the narrow walkways between buildings obviously seeking another exit.   
          Then Roland heard the distinctive loud _“crack!”_ of someone Apparating.  He turned his head swiftly towards the sound but saw no one.  Someone must have just left.  
          Returning his attention to the wall, Roland followed the shape of the sinister looking cloud up and saw that it reached into the sky making a dark ceiling overhead and seemed to surround the area like a huge impenetrable bubble. The circular shape was vaguely familiar somehow and he pondered on what it could be.  As he sat, Roland suddenly noticed how eerily silent things were.  He could no longer hear the sounds of traffic outside Grimmauld Place.  Meanwhile the black dog re-appeared momentarily. The rapid click of his nails on the sidewalk sounded extraordinarily loud as he charged down another walkway between buildings on the other side of the street.   
          Roland slipped his cell phone out of his pocket and opened it.  This was way weird.  He needed to report it right away.  He pressed the button to turn the phone on.  Nothing happened.  No signal, no power, nothing!  
_“What now?”_ he thought with growing concern.  The rapid clicking of nails on the sidewalk momentarily distracted Roland.  He turned his head as the dog emerged from between the buildings.  It turned down the street and headed straight towards Roland at full speed!  Without slowing the dog leaped totally over Roland and continued running swerving to go through the next nearest narrow walkway between buildings.  
          Roland returned the cell phone to his pocket thoughtfully.  What was that wall?  Running through all possibilities in his mind, Roland’s mind kept returning to one thing he knew of that was black and circular but it couldn’t be that—if it were then it would mean… Roland’s blood grew cold. _“It couldn’t be!”_ he thought with a growing sense of doom.  _“I’d be dead if that were it!”_ he told himself, _“and I’m not dead!”_   But it was the only thing that seemed to fit—he was inside a Death Circle!  
          A Death Circle was a circular black line that went anywhere from a hectare to a kilometer in diameter.  The line was about ten centimeters in width and appeared burnt but no fire was ever seen to make it nor could any amount of scrubbing rub it off.  The circles would appear without warning at seemingly random locations, their contents horrified Muggles and Wizards alike who encountered them.  One minute everything looked fine, the next…  The Nons called them Death Circles because of their shape and of the terrible things that happened within.  Buildings collapsed, houses burned and people died most horribly.  Nothing alive was ever known to come out of a Death Circle.  
          Curiously, though all sorts of death and destruction appeared within the circle, there was never any evidence of damage just outside the circle.  Roland had even heard of a story of a tree, discovered half in, half out of the circle, its trunk carved out perfectly by black burn mark completing the circular design.   
          The Slytherins never acknowledged the existence of Death Circles and the Muggles, well, surely they must have noticed the circular line surrounding some of the sights of “terrorist” destruction but their news never mentioned a black circle.  (Wizard Pilkington insisted Roland read both Wizard and Muggle News daily.)  That, in itself, was not surprising.  Since becoming an Intern, Roland had noticed how closely Wizard Security controlled the information reported in the Muggle news.  
          The circles were a considerable source of whispered discussion within the Non community.  Logically, some of the things discovered within a circle—completely burnt buildings and slow torturous deaths must have taken hours to happen but no one ever seemed to notice anything amiss until it was too late.  Roland remembered his parents wondering why the Muggles never seemed to notice a thing until it was all over.  
          Then there was the night Roland had hid behind the doorway when he should have been in bed and listened as a shaken cousin Erik described a visit he tried to make to his parents’ (Roland’s Aunt and Uncle’s) house.  Erik was Apparating, but instead of arriving on the front doorstep, he bounced unexpectedly off a solid mass that landed him a block away!  Erik tried and tried but couldn’t get any closer by Apparating.  So he decided to walk to their house, but couldn’t do that either. He encountered a solid wall blocking the way.  The wall had a chameleon like appearance from the outside so couldn’t be seen, only felt, and Erik could detect several repelling wards, which, if he hadn’t already found the wall and been so worried about his parents, would have sent him on his way none the wiser.  Sick with worry, Erik waited for two hours just outside the wards.   
          Suddenly the wall disappeared, the repelling wards vanished and Erik heard the distinctive _“cracks!”_ of several people Disapparating.  A familiar sinister black line remained where the wall had been and a sickening mass of bodies and debris appeared beyond.  Erik had stared in shock at the flattened remains of his parents’ home within the smoldering wreckage.  Blood was splattered everywhere.  Working frantically with the Muggle Rescue Crew, Erik hunted for his parents.  He didn’t find them!  No one ever saw his parents afterwards, alive or dead!  
          Only the day before Erik’s parents had protested loudly over the selection of Rodolphus Lestrange as Minister of Magic.  His parents thought there must be some laws forbidding an ex-convict from becoming Minister even if he _had_ been pardoned.  (Minister Malfoy had issued pardons for all the Death Eaters after their escape from Azkaban.)  Erik was certain the Death Eaters had created the circle and killed his parents!  But there was no proof, of course, and no witnesses.   
          Roland’s parents advised Erik to not repeat his story to anyone; it could not be proven, would not bring his parents back and would likely get him killed as well.  But Erik’s grief and thirst for justice and revenge far outweighed any sense of caution.  Roland’s parents argued with Erik long into the night against him taking some foolish course of action that would serve no purpose except get Erik and maybe the rest of the family killed.   
          In the end, it was Roland who tipped the scales.  Unable to remain quiet any longer Roland had stepped out from behind the door.  “I’ve already lost my Aunt and Uncle,” he had quaveringly told Erik with tears streaming down his face. “I don’t want to loose you too!”   
          And so Erik had reluctantly agreed to stay alive, for the children.  Erik’s story (names omitted) was whispered throughout the Non community.  No one voiced further objection over the selection of Rodolphus Lestrange as Minister of Magic.  Nor was there any outcry over any of the new anti-Muggle, anti-Mudblood laws he proposed soon afterwards.  There was no point.  Despite outward appearances of legality and tolerance the Dark Lord still ruled completely and it was clear any opposition to his will would be ruthlessly eliminated.  
          Roland’s heart beat wildly while he tried to fight his panic.  He reminded himself that he was still under a Disillusionment Charm.  Whoever was doing this shouldn’t know he was here.  Perhaps, if he kept absolutely still, they’d miss him; maybe he still had a chance to get out alive…   
          Out—wait a minute!  Roland remembered hearing a loud _“crack!”_ after the wall went up but no one was there...  Someone must have Disapparated out!  Was that possible?  Erik couldn’t Apparate in but could people Apparate out?  It didn’t seem likely or his aunt and uncle would have Apparated out.  Unless—they didn’t have their wands…  
          Roland slowly slid his wand out.  He closed his eyes, thought of his home, his safe secure home and focused.  Nothing happened!  Perhaps he had done it wrong somehow.  Roland tried again.  No place did he want to be more than home right now…  He tried to feel his way into nothingness and move with _deliberation_ just as he was instructed to during class last year.  Nothing happened.  With sinking certainty Roland realized he could not Apparate out; he was trapped.  
          Another loud _“crack!”_ sounded.  Roland opened his eyes and looked.  His blood ran icy cold as he saw the tall female figure standing confidently in the center of Grimmauld Place.  She had inky black hair twisted into a bun but long tendrils of it hung loose and curled around her pale face.  Her deep purple robes swirled about her body and her wand extended menacingly.  Bellatrix Lestrange!  
          Wizard Pilkington made Roland read the histories of all the Death Eaters.  He insisted Roland learn whatever he could not wanting Roland to join Security without being fully informed about his prospective employers.  The recent stuff was easy to locate.  The criminal records were buried under layers of dust at the school library, but getting people to talk about the Death Eaters, those who knew or had seen them in action, that was harder, much harder.  Those who reluctantly talked told their tales in hushed whispers afraid to be overheard.   
          Of the few reports Roland had heard about Bellatrix Lestrange, the one that stood out most in his mind about her was simply, “Don’t cross Bellatrix!”  It was a directive that seemed all the more fearful because of its lack of explanation.  Roland had heard more once he started his internship; none of it was good, even the Slytherins spoke of Bellatrix respectfully.  Beneath a veneer of incredible beauty she was said to have a soul so cold and heartless that it matched none other except perhaps that of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.   
          Roland stared at Bellatrix in terror scarcely breathing.  “She doesn’t know I’m here!  She doesn’t know I’m here!!” he kept repeating to himself hoping it was true while he tried to still his racing heart fearing she would hear its roar despite her distance from him.   
          A door to one of the houses opened up.  An elderly lady with graying hair dressed in a dark blue suit stepped out closing the door behind her. The lady looked curiously at Bellatrix.  Bellatrix looked back.  Then Bellatrix pointed her wand at the lady and shouted, _“Avada Kadavra!”_    The lady dropped to the ground without a sound—dead!   
          Roland closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall fighting the sudden terror and nausea that threatened to overwhelm him.  He knew they were dangerous; that they were all supposed to be cold-blooded murderers but he hadn’t taken it seriously—not seriously enough.   Though the Slytherins in school were mean and nasty he’d never seen them—well, couldn’t imagine them—it was different seeing it with his own eyes.  It was just so … wrong!  Even if Bellatrix didn’t know Roland was there, could he sit quietly in hiding while she cold-bloodedly murdered everyone on the street?  
          Meanwhile, Bellatrix calmly pointed her wand towards the house behind the lady and shouted, _“Obscuro Maximus!”_ in a loud commanding voice.  Immediately the house seemed to creak and groan; the windows and doors of the house became black.  Then they vanished altogether becoming part of the house walls.  Her spell had eliminated all access in and out of the house. _“Obscuro Maximus!”_ she shouted again at the next house rendering it windowless and doorless as well.  From house to house she went shouting _“Obscuro Maximus!”_ until all the buildings were solid walls with no entrance or exit.   
          Roland opened his eyes and stared numbly at the walled buildings around him.  Was this how they did it?  Lock the victims in their houses out of the way until they were ready to kill them?  Had his aunt and uncle died first or last?  
          Bellatrix then extended her wand full length from her body and pointed it directly at Roland!  _“No, not me!”_ Roland told himself frantically while rooted to his place.  _“She doesn’t see me—doesn’t know I’m here!  She’s just pointing the wand down the street my way!”_  
          The wand gave off an eerie orange red glow but seemed to do nothing more.  To his intense relief, Bellatrix slowly moved the wand away from Roland.  She continued to move the wand away from him aiming it at the nearby building and then the space beyond.  “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” she sang loudly in a playful voice as she turned in a slow circle moving the wand as she went.  
          Roland stared at Bellatrix in surprise, his fear temporarily forgotten.  To whom was she speaking?  There was only himself and Bellatrix out in the streets and she didn’t seem to be seeking him.   
          The light on the tip of her wand turned a blue-black colour and Bellatrix stopped turning.  “Got you!” she said with satisfaction.  Bellatrix raised her other arm until it was waist high.  She lined her arm and hand in the same direction as her wand twisting her wrist until the palm was facing up.  Then Bellatrix closed her hand into a fist.  _“Ah—cci—o!”_ she said slowly while she bent the arm moving it up and back slowly as if she were lifting something heavy.   
          At first nothing happened.  But then something huge, black and wriggling floated into view.  It was the dog!  Its whole body squirmed and twisted, the long legs seeking something, anything, to grasp.  A silver collar gleamed unnaturally bright around its neck!  While Roland watched, the struggling dog floated closer and closer to Bellatrix until it came to a halt just out of arms length away.  It dangled helplessly in front of her as if suspended by an invisible line hanging from the sky.    
          Still keeping her fist closed and elevated.  Bellatrix watched the dog futilely jerk back and forth then she raised her fist slightly and twisted her wrist.  Immediately the dog started to cough and gag as if it were choking.  It briefly struggled more frantically and then slowed its efforts to finally hang limply in front of her.  Bellatrix straightened her wrist. The dog jerked briefly once, coughed and started breathing making a painfully loud hoarse rasping sound.  
          She pointed her wand at the dog causing it to spin slowly in place.  “You’ve been very naughty!” she scolded the dog as it twirled.  “And need to be taught a lesson—one you won’t forget for a very long time. The spinning stopped.  The dog no longer struggled.  It panted loudly, its black legs hung down limply.  “You look cold,” she mused with mock concern while the dog’s sides heaved out and in.  “Shall we warm up a bit before we get down to business?”   
          Bellatrix’s musical voice was light and pleasant but the words somehow chilled Roland to the bone.  What did she mean to do to the dog?  He didn’t have to wait long to find out.   
          Bellatrix’s wand dropped and pointed to the ground beneath the dog.  A single flame appeared.  The flame grew to the size of a small campfire with no visible source of fuel.  The dog stirred and tried to curl its black body into a ball in an effort to avoid the heat of the fire beneath it.  But the flames grew higher.  They flickered and touched the body igniting the fur!  The dog jerked convulsively as the fire raced across its body.  Roland closed his eyes in horror.  But he couldn’t escape the scent that wafted his way—that of burnt hair and then of flesh…

 

 ** _“Expelliarmus!”_**   

 

          Roland hadn’t meant to leave his hiding place, hadn’t meant to reveal his presence; it was as if his feet and body moved of their own accord.  He liked dogs, and couldn’t bear to see one mistreated so…  
          The wand flew out of Bellatrix’s hand; the fire vanished and the wand landed on the ground with a loud ominous clatter.  Roland froze in place not knowing what to do next; he didn’t know any other fighting spells.  Once the opponent was disarmed during the duels at school the battle ended.  The fight was over!  You bowed and then waited until the opponent picked up his or her wand and left the floor.  Nothing else was permitted. But this wasn’t a school duel.   
          Bellatrix turned her head towards Roland.  “My, my!” she said sweetly in a musical voice, her hooded eyes seeking to see the source of interference through his Disillusionment Charm.  “It seems as if someone new wants to play.”  She opened her fist and the dog dropped to the ground.  It collapsed silently into a heap in front of her where it lay unmoving. Then Bellatrix calmly held out her hand and commanded, _“Accio!”_   The wand flew to her fingers and she was again armed.   
          Bellatrix pointed the wand in Roland’s direction and waved it gently.  _“Homo Revelios!”_ she commanded.  The tip glowed green when it pointed directly at Roland.  With a flick of her wrist Roland felt as if liquid were oozing down his face and back; he knew the Disillusionment Charm had been broken.  He stood exposed in front of Bellatrix.

********************

          Roland quickly lowered his eyes but remained rooted in place too scared to move.  “Follow the rules!” he told himself desperately realizing it was too late to undo his impulsive act.  While under the Disillusionment Charm, he still had a chance to get out alive, unnoticed, but there was no hope for that now.  Even armed with a wand, Roland knew he was no match for Bellatrix.  Roland’s family had always emphasized the importance of life and survival.  What should he do?  Apologize?  No.  He doubted that would work.  Plead?  Beg?  Doubtful.  Roland had heard nothing that indicated Bellatrix had ever shown mercy.  
          “Look at me!” came an icy command.  
          Fearfully Roland lifted his head and looked into the heavily lidded eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange.  
          “Why, you’re only a boy!” said Bellatrix while surveying Roland.  Her voice softened becoming that of an adult to a child.  
          Despite his fear, Roland felt his face colour.  _Boy!_   He was seventeen!  Old enough to make his own decisions…   
          “And a handsome one at that!” Bellatrix added in a friendly tone circling her wand playfully in his direction.   
          Roland felt the flush on his face deepen.  He didn’t like being regarded like some piece of meat.  He had gotten that a lot of times from the Slytherin girls at school and hated it.  Roland gripped his wand tighter but didn’t speak.  “She’s just another Slytherin!” he told himself frantically.  “Her words mean nothing!  She’s trying to get me to break the rules!  That’s been tried hundreds of times before at school and it’s never worked!  It won’t work here either!”  But he had already broken the first rule—that of non-interference with Slytherin affairs!  
          “What’s your name, _boy_?” Bellatrix asked curiously.  A mocking smile played on her lips sensing that Roland didn’t like being called “boy.”  
          Roland swallowed nervously.  He wasn’t used to looking at Slytherins when he talked.  “R-Roland, ma’am,” he said.  “Roland DeWitt.”  
          “And polite, too,” she added approvingly.  “Tell me, _Roland DeWitt,_ ” Bellatrix continued in a light playful voice all the while staring intently at him, “do you want to _die?_ ”  
          Roland’s mouth instantly dried up and his body felt numb as he stared at her!  He heard no playfulness in the last part.  The question was no joke.  Bellatrix’s voice was deadly serious and her hooded eyes icy cold.  She watched him steadily while waiting for an answer.  Roland gulped.  What should he say?  A part of him wanted to sound brave and confident but that wasn’t true and he had been taught to answer all direct questions honestly.  She would know if he answered otherwise.  “N-no, ma’am,” he whispered afraid if he spoke louder his voice would crack and further betray his fear.  
          Bellatrix smiled visibly relaxing.  “Good,” she said pleasantly with a nod of her head.  She lowered her wand invitingly.  
          Seeing this, Roland also relaxed and let his wand drop.  He ventured a quick breath of relief.  Perhaps he had done something right, maybe she wasn’t so bad as they all said; maybe he’d get out of this al—  
_“CRUCIO!”_   Bellatrix had whipped her wand up so fast Roland hadn’t even seen it happen!  His wand dropped from his hand and he was on the ground experiencing an agony such as never before!  Roland’s bones seemed to be on fire; every nerve in his body burned unceasingly.  He rolled on the ground screaming helplessly.   
          Abruptly the pain stopped.  Roland gasped for air struggling to regain his senses.  Dimly he heard Bellatrix speak, “I was hoping you’d say that,” she said coldly.  “ _Crucio!”_  
          Again Roland rolled in such pain he was scarce able to breath!  _“NO!”_ his mind screamed out.  But the only sounds he could make were screams of agony.  The pain stopped again.  Roland lay panting weakly unable to move.   
          “I wonder how long you will last?” came Beatrix’s icy impersonal voice. _“Crucio!”_  
_“NO!”_ Roland’s mind screamed in protest suddenly realizing what she was doing.  _“No-No-No-NO!”_  He’d read about the Longbottoms, seen Cedric Diggory—to be condemned to a life of—nothing!  _“NOOOOO!”_ But that didn’t stop the searing pain that coursed through his body without end.  It didn’t stop him from screaming non-stop at the top of his lungs and convulsing uncontrollably in reaction to her curse.  
          After what seemed like an eternity the pain stopped again.  Roland lay unmoving on the ground breathing heavily. His mind felt numb and his throat raw. Tears streamed out of his eyes from the pain.  As he lay there he became aware of a cooling breeze blowing on his face and sunlight streaming down on him.  He could also hear a savage growling behind him.  The growling continued steadily.  Roland rolled himself over to find its source.  All he could see was a blur of purple and black.  
          Balancing himself on one arm, Roland raised himself higher.  The growling got louder.  Roland rubbed his eyes and squinted in an effort to clear his vision. When he looked again, his adrenaline rushed in and Roland forgot all thoughts of pain and weariness.  Lying still on the ground in a widening pool of blood was Bellatrix Lestrange!   
          On top of her body with his jaws at her throat stood the big black dog!  The dog lifted his head turning it to look at Roland.  Its body and back legs were horribly burnt.  Red blood dripped from his jaws.  Roland watched in horror while the dog calmly bent its head back down burying its muzzle in what was left of the neck of Bellatrix.  There was so much blood Roland couldn’t even see her face!  Roland shuttered when he heard the distinctive crunch of breaking bone!  
          Roland slowly lowered the hand from his face and reached into his pocket.  The motion attracted the dog.  Almost immediately he looked again at Roland and snarled warningly, his lips curled up showing long pointy white teeth, shiny red with blood.  “Easy, boy,” said Roland softly, his scratchy voice quavering.  “I’m not going to hurt you!”  (As if he could have lying on the ground like he was.)  “I’m just getting my phone…” Roland added informatively while pulling out the phone showing it to the dog.  It wasn’t as if the dog could understand but Roland knew a soothing voice could help calm animals.  The growling stopped, but the bloody teeth remained bared and the dog watched Roland suspiciously.   
          With a trembling hand, Roland opened the phone and turned it on.  To his immense relief, he got a signal.  Roland pressed redial and anxiously held the phone to his ear listening for its ring.  
          “Report,” came a familiar calm voice.  
          “She’s dead!” blurted Roland unable to contain himself.   
          “Who?  The girl?” the voice on the other end asked quickly.  
          “No!” replied Roland urgently.  “The _Queen!_ ”  
          “Who?” said the voice with alarm.  
          “The _Queen Bee_ is dead!” Roland repeated using Non slang for Bellatrix Lestrange.  “Just now!” he added.  
          There was a long silence as the person on the other end digested the news.  “Dead?” repeated the voice in disbelief.  
          “Yes!” confirmed Roland.  
          “How?  The girl?”  
          “No!” replied Roland with frustration.  “I haven’t even _seen_ the girl!  It was a big black dog!”  
          “You sure?”  
          Roland raised his head and looked into the pale eyes of the dog, blood still dripping from his jaws.  “Oh, yeah,” he confirmed in a whisper.  “I’m looking right at him!”  
          There was a still longer silence.  Then, “You O.K.?”  
          “For now!” replied Roland unable to look away from those dripping teeth.   
          “Then get out of there!”   
          “Huh?”  
          “The authorities will be there soon—you need to get away now while you can.  Call me as soon as you’re clear.  I’ll be waiting.”  
          “Y-yes sir,” said Roland.  He closed the phone and carefully slipped it back into his pocket all the while watching the dog.  “Get out of here,” he muttered to himself.  “Right!”   Roland slowly stood balancing himself on shaky legs.  He looked about for his wand finally spotting it on the ground in a rivulet of blood partially covered by Bellatrix’s purple robe.  Roland took a stumbling step towards it; the dog instantly growled warningly.  Roland froze.  “Easy!” he told the dog.  “I’m just getting my wand.”  He slid his foot cautiously forward all the while watching the dog; the growling increased to a fierce snarl!  The dog crouched down and faced Roland menacingly looking ready to attack.  “O.K., O.K.!” said Roland to the dog in a placating voice as he slid his foot back.  The growling immediately stopped but the dog remained crouched alertly watching Roland.  Roland wanted his wand but had no desire to face those teeth!  He would have to leave his wand behind.  
          Roland backed away carefully.  He turned and headed up the street.  Behind him he could hear the sounds of people coming out of the houses. Then he heard the shouts and screams as they saw the bodies lying on the ground…


	19. Chapter 19

          The crisis over, Roland felt suddenly exhausted from his experiences.  He slowed his walk up the street.  So far, no one had stopped him; no one seemed to have noticed his exit.  Just ahead Roland could see the end of Grimmauld Place.  He knew he would be fairly safe once he rounded the corner and turned onto a new street.  In his mind Roland started framing his report to Wizard Pilkington: the dog; the cloud; Bellatrix; his breach of the rules; the loss of his wand…  It wasn’t a report he was looking forward to make; he was in a lot of trouble and Roland knew it.  
          Suddenly something hurled out of the walkway between the buildings, and crashed into Roland knocking him to the ground.  Before he knew it Roland was lying flat on his back staring into the inch-long sharp teeth of that big black dog!  Bits of flesh were stuck between the teeth and the lips the dog curled up as it growled were still wet and red.  Roland opened his mouth to cry out for help and the dog planted a dirty wet paw over his lips blocking any sound.  Not just _wet_ , Roland suddenly realized, but bloo—Roland lurched abruptly twisting his head and body sideways and started heaving violently!  To think that Bellatrix’s blood had been in his mou— sick all over Roland heaved some more.   
          When he finally stopped, Roland raised his head weakly, opened his mouth, “Hel—” he started to say only to have his face pushed down into his own vomit!  Coughing and sputtering, Roland raised his head again struggling to get a breath.  “Hel—” He started and he could feel a weight on the back of his head relentlessly push his head back down.   
          Roland squirmed frantically, his face half in/half out of the vomit.  “No!  Please!” he gasped quickly between coughs.  “Don’t!” he pleaded.  “I get it!  You don’t want me to make any noise.  I won’t, I swear!”  The pressure eased and Roland felt the paw lift off his head.  Roland spat repeatedly trying to get everything out of his mouth. Then he used his arm and shirtsleeve to try to wipe the vomit off his face mouth and lips.  There was something decidedly weird about the dog, the way it seemed to understand him when he talked.  It was important somehow, but the reason eluded him.  
          Roland started to lift himself off the ground only to hear a low rumbling growl, feel the dog’s breath in his ear and something dripped on his neck!  He froze remembering the last neck this dog had been near.  Roland gave an involuntary shiver when he felt something cold and wet on his skin—a tongue?  At least Roland hoped that’s what it was.  Then he felt the soft tickle of whiskers and a sharp tug on the collar of his shirt.  The force of the tug pulled Roland around dragging him forward pulling him towards the walkway; his shirt twisted and bunched up uncomfortably around his throat choking him.  “Do you want me to come with you?” Roland guessed out loud while he fought for breath.  “Is that it?”  The tugging continued.  Roland tried to loosen the hold on his neck, struggled to get his feet under him but was pulled so fast he could do neither. “O.K.! O.K.!” he told the dog frantically between gasps.  “I’ll go with you!  Just let me walk!”  Suddenly the dog let go of his collar and Roland fell to the ground face forward.   
          Lying still on the ground Roland used the opportunity to get some much-needed air. The huge dog stood silently on his right just out of reach watching.  Roland could hear the sirens of arriving Muggle authorities.  Should he risk everything and call out?  _“No,”_ he decided.  The dog was too close.  Help could not arrive in time.  Roland slowly pulled himself to his knees and then his feet.  He swayed shakily while he pulled down his shirt, wiped off his face and mouth again with a shirtsleeve and spat on the ground several times feeling decidedly unclean.  At least if he were on his feet, Roland reasoned, he would have a better chance to fight or run.   
          But before Roland could take a step, the dog darted forward, grabbed Roland’s wrist firmly in his jaws and started pulling Roland further down the narrow walkway.  _“Well,”_ thought Roland to himself as he stumbled forward, _“at least hanging onto my wrist is better than my neck.”_

 

*********************

          The dog moved Roland swiftly to the end of the building and around the corner.  Roland was amazed at how fast the dog moved despite the massive burn injuries on his hindquarters that showed raw and red.  A dilapidated door hung loose on its hinges in the back of the building.  Without hesitation, the dog led Roland to the door.  The dog ran into it, pushing the door open with its body and pulled Roland inside.  The door swung shut with a clatter behind them.   
          For a while Roland couldn’t see anything as he stumbled forward urged on by the dog.  The only light came from a small cracked dirty window near the door.  Roland immediately feared a sinister purpose to the location but then reasoned the dog could have easily killed him earlier had that been his intention.  The dog pulled Roland several meters into the room, their steps echoed loudly as they moved.  Then the dog stopped and let go of Roland’s wrist.   
          In the silence that followed Roland could hear his own breathing and that of the dog somewhere nearby.  It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. The room seemed to be an abandoned workshop of some nature.  There were a few counter top tables, lots of trash and some overturned benches between Muggle equipment of some nature.  Looking further, Roland spotted the silver collar of the dog and then the dog itself—but was it the same dog?  
          The dog that had brought Roland through the door had been a scary vicious monster.  This dog looked totally tame and meek by comparison.  It had laid down Sphinx fashion on the ground.  Its head pointed up at Roland, mouth closed and ears cocked forward looking at him intently.  When Roland looked back, the dog immediately sat up on its haunches, wagged its burned tail slowly, lifted a front paw gently and whined softly all the while still watching Roland intently.  Roland recognized the behavior as plainly doggy for “Please?”  
          “You want something, right?” asked Roland still not sure how this dog could understand his words.  
          In response, the dog “yipped” eagerly, wagged its tail faster and raised both front legs briefly “begging” fashion.  
          “O.K.,” said Roland.  “What?”  
          The dog immediately stood and bowed its head.  The front paws started scratching and tugging at the silver collar on its neck.  He worked at it energetically but could not dislodge the collar.  
          “You want me to remove the collar?  Is that it?” asked Roland.  
          The dog “yipped” immediately and stood up wagging its tail so hard its burnt hindquarters moved back and forth with the tail.  Definitely a “yes.”  Roland stared at the huge dog apprehensively reluctant to go near.  But looking at the dog that danced eagerly about now, it was difficult to remember that only minutes earlier it was snarling and ripping out throats.   
          Roland knelt down in front of the dog.  The dog stood still trembling in anticipation; only the tail moved back and forth.  Roland studied the collar.  It appeared to be a finely wrought silver snake that was wound twice around the dog’s neck. Cautiously Roland touched the collar. It felt cold and creepy.  Taking a deep breath Roland placed his hands on either side of the dog's head.  Gripping the snake firmly with his hands, he pulled.  Nothing happened.  Forgetting his fears, Roland closed his eyes and pulled with all his might trying to get the collar over the dog’s head but it fit too snugly around the neck.  Roland changed tactics gripping the head of the snake with one hand and the tail with his other and tried to unwind the snake from around the neck and but the metal wouldn't give or bend.  Roland sighed in defeat.  “I’m sorry,” he told the dog regretfully.  “But I can’t get it off.  I can’t make it bend even just a little bit.  Maybe if we had some tools…”  
          In response, the dog left Roland's side and trotted over to a pile of trash in the far corner of the room.  He dug through the garbage briefly and returned carrying something in his mouth.  A wand!  For a moment Roland’s heart gave a happy leap of anticipation but as the dog drew near, Roland realized the wand was not his, but Bellatrix’s!   
          “No!” he told the dog firmly.  “I can’t use that!  It’s not my wand!  Where’s my wand?  Go get my wand and I’ll try using it!”  But the dog continued to walk closer stopping less than a meter from Roland.  He lowered his head and dropped the wand at Roland’s feet.  Then the dog looked up at Roland with pleading eyes and whined softly.  
          “No!” insisted Roland.  “I’ll go get my wand!” he suggested and started to leave but the dog instantly moved forward blocking Roland’s way and growled threateningly.  Roland froze in place.  “I can’t use that wand,” he protested to the dog.  “It’s not permitted!”  The dog merely whined with that pleading look.  He then bent down and used his nose to push the wand rolling it until the wand touched Roland’s feet.  “I just can’t!” said Roland as he instinctively backed away.  “Not that wand!”  The dog picked up the wand and brought it again to Roland holding it out to Roland’s hand while whining softly.  Roland backed up again and stared fearfully at the wand without touching it.  
          “I don’t know any spells!” he told the dog.  “Honest!  They don’t teach us that kind at Hogwarts!  The dog continued to whine.  It moved forward and poked Roland insistently with the wand.  Roland continued to back away from wand and dog until he bumped into the wall behind him and could back away no more.  Then the dog sat in front of Roland, wand in his mouth, raised both its front legs in a classic “begging” position and whined some more…  Roland could see the horrible burns all along the underside of his body, still raw and red.  
          Roland sighed.  The dog probably wouldn’t let him leave unless he used the wand. “O.K.,” he told the dog reluctantly.  “I’ll try.  But I can’t promise anything.”  The dog nodded its head.  Roland carefully took the wand from the dog’s mouth.  It felt wet and slimy from the dog but otherwise not too bad.  The dog moved so the collar showed easily and sat in front of Roland expectantly.  Roland dried off the wand and gave it an experimental swish.  He could feel the power run through it as the wand gave off a stream of bluish-gray sparks.  _“Interesting,”_ he thought.  The Slytherins had always asserted terrible things would happen if an “inferior” ever attempted to use one of their wands.  They were obviously mistaken, or lying.   
          Encouraged, Roland set his mind to the task at hand with more enthusiasm.  He studied the dog, if indeed it was a dog, and the collar he wore.  It was plainly no ordinary collar and not intended to be removed.  It had no buckle or lock and should have bent easily under his strength.  It had also glowed and tightened under Bellatrix’s control.  Given the way the “dog” wanted so desperately to get rid of it Roland knew the collar was much, much more.   
          Bellatrix was said to be one of the most powerful witches alive, or rather _had been_ …  thought Roland remembering that still body lying on the ground with all the blood around.  He shivered unconsciously at the thought of someone or something, brave and bold enough to attack Bellatrix, let alone succeed.  Bellatrix probably had a hand in the construction of the collar, if not her then someone of comparable strength.  Roland gulped nervously not wanting to think who _that_ might have been…  He shoved the scary thought aside and instead reviewed the many spells he knew.  Being one of the top Nons at Hogwarts, he knew a lot but none of them seemed to fit the situation.  Considering the abilities of those who probably made the collar, Roland decided it was doubtful any spell taught at Hogwarts would be strong enough to break the collar.  There were other spells he knew, the stronger ones he had read about but not been permitted to practice.  The Slytherins practiced those—especially those training to be New Death Eaters.  Those spells might succeed in breaking the collar, but they were grand and splashy, designed to leave a visible, lasting impression on spectators; any of them would probably kill the dog in the process.    
          That left a collection of low impact Non charms and spells which the Slytherins had little interest in and quite possibly had no knowledge of.  They had been developed in secret by the Nons to help each other cope with everyday Slytherins demands.  Little things –mostly performed non-verbally so the Slytherins wouldn’t know they were happening.  The collection included a large assortment of cleaning spells, food preparation spells, flavor charms (to enhance a Slytherin’s like (or dislike) of a food), anonymity charms (to avoid Slytherin harassment), lifting and transporting spells, retrieval spells (for larger items) and retrieval charms (for the smaller things).  
          “Retrieval,” mused Roland.  Slytherins often used the Nons as gophers—to fetch items they wanted and were too lazy to get themselves.  It was also common practice for the Slytherins to “confiscate” Non possessions and keep them as their own “just because.”  Though the Nons considered such “confiscation” blatant theft, they dared not protest the behavior.  Protesting was no guarantee the stolen item would be returned and would only make things worse for the protestor in terms of vindictive Slytherin harrassment.  Nons could, however, if not caught, retrieve “confiscated” items.  If later questioned about a missing “confiscated” item, a Non could honestly say he or she had not taken “Slytherin” property…   
          Retrieval of “confiscated” items usually went unnoticed because the Slytherins rarely cared or remembered about the items they took after the actual taking.  They often delighted more in the taking than the possession.  Out of sight, out of mind.  A stolen item retrieved quickly enough and kept out of sight could be totally forgotten by the Slytherin thief.   
          When a Slytherin “confiscated” something, the victim would immediately notify the rest of the Nons.  One of the older Nons would try to get close to the thief and “retrieve” the “confiscated” item before it was taken to the Slytherin dorms.  Nons were not permitted to enter the Slytherin dorms.  Retrieval charms were quick, quiet and usually designed to get things out of small spaces such as bags and pockets.   
          “Confiscated” jewelry was the most difficult to retrieve especially when the Slytherin thief decided to wear it as a trophy. (Nons were warned time and time again to never wear jewelry at school but there was always some First year who risked it anyway…)  As a matter of policy, all Non necklaces and bracelets at Hogwarts were pre-enchanted while in the dorm with an emergency unclasp charm.  When the Non judged the time was right he or she would give a nonverbal command and a “confiscated” necklace or bracelet would unlatch and drop unnoticed to the ground.  A quick _“Accio”_ would then cause the stolen piece to fly into the Non’s waiting hand.  
          Rings were the most difficult to retrieve as they had no clasp to pre-spell.  Retrieval meant making the ring just a bit larger than the finger knuckle, then coaxing the ring to slip unnoticed off a Slytherin finger before dropping or flying into a waiting Non hand.   
          Though it hadn’t been “confiscated” and wasn’t his, Roland thought he might be able to work the Ring Retrieval charm on the collar.  After all, it did look a lot like a rather large ring…   
          Roland closed his eyes and considered how he might best modify the Ring Retrieval charm.  Usually he had to do it silently with his wand concealed.  It was a three-step charm. First, Roland would cast a charm that “nudged” the metal in the ring softening it.  Then the inside of the ring would temporarily collapse in on itself pushing the rest outward—just enough to make the ring loose around the finger but not so much as to break or warp the ring.  Finally, Roland would find the right moment (when the hand wearing the ring was down or busy) to call the ring--sliding it unnoticed off the finger.  It was delicate work.  Some of the girls were better at ring retrieval than him, but he had done his fare share successfully.  
          Roland decided he would feel more comfortable working the charm with silent commands.  That was how he always did it.  Roland had never before worked on “spelled” metal.  Would the metal react in the same way?  If it did, he would have to “nudge” the metal much more than usual given the larger size of the collar. But how much?  Collapsing the “ring” in on itself so it pushed the rest outward was chancy too.  A dog’s head was a pretty large “knuckle.”  Could he cause the metal to push out far enough to slide over it?  _“Then again,”_ thought Roland, “ _maybe he wouldn’t have to “nudge” the whole ring, it was just the top and sides of the head that stuck out…”_ At least he could take his time casting the charm and wouldn’t have to hide the wand while he worked.  That would help.   
          Roland reviewed in his mind one last time what he intended to do and then opened his eyes.  The dog still sat in front of him, watching Roland expectantly.  “O.K.” Roland told the dog.  “I’m ready.”  
          While Roland repositioned himself so he could aim at the top of the collar he wondered briefly at the wisdom of trying to remove the collar.  He had no idea who or what lay beneath.  But, remembering the House motto, the dog was definitely no Slytherin and needed help…  In fact, using Wizard Pilkington’s hair splitting logic, there was no Alert out on the dog and Roland hadn’t actually _seen_ the dog kill Bellatrix…   
          “Don’t move,” he told the dog while he aimed the wand.  Immediately, the soft thumping of the tail stopped.  Roland took a deep breath…  _“Mallabie!”_ he said to himself.  He could feel power course through the wand, but could see nothing.  That was to be expected.  The wearer of a ring to be retrieved couldn’t know it was happening.  But had it worked?  The dog whined anxiously.   “Hush,” Roland told the dog.  “I’m not yet finished…”   
          Now, he had to wait.  Roland wasn’t sure how long, but at least for a few minutes.  Retrieval charms worked slowly; there was no need for immediate speed in the first part.  They took into account a moving target that was not always in the right position held by someone who could not know what was going on.  Roland waited longer than he usually did.  He had used more force than normal and the item to be retrieved was bigger than the usual ring.   
          Now for the collapsing.  Roland again pointed his wand at the same location.  “ _Diminuette!_ ” he said in his mind.  He watched the collar closely.  He should be able to see some effect of this part of the charm. But he wasn’t sure what. The rings they used in practice tended to flatten from the inside out.  It wasn’t much and not really noticeable unless you were looking for it, but always enough to make a ring removal possible.  The collar seemed to glow but Roland couldn’t see any other difference.  _“Diminuette!”_ repeated Roland putting more force in the command.  This time he saw just the faintest of flattening on the top of the snake-like shape.  
          Roland changed his position to face the dog.  He had to act more swiftly now.  The spell was temporary. The Nons did not want a partially completed spell being discovered by the Slytherins so if a ring could not be retrieved at this point it would revert back to its original state. Roland didn’t know how temporary was temporary with bewitched metal.  He pointed the wand at the collar and took a deep breath.  _“Accio Ring!”_ he said in his mind.  Nothing happened.  _“Accio Ring!”_ he repeated more forcefully.  Still nothing happened.  Roland tried again, “Accio Ring!” said forcefully out loud.  Nothing.   
          The dog whined in disappointment and Roland stared at the collar dismayed.  He set down the wand on the nearby counter and bent down to examine the collar.  He knew it had flattened so why wasn’t the charm working?  Roland gingerly placed a finger beneath the collar where he had aimed his spell.  Yes, the metal did seem somehow softer than before.  Maybe not soft enough; he’d been worried about that.  But if that were the case the collar should have risen up the neck at least a bit in an effort to come when Roland said _“Accio!”_ and it hadn’t.   Maybe it was the _Accio_ part that didn’t work!   
          Roland grasped the collar on either side and pulled.  Slowly, the collar slid up the dog’s neck.  Unlike before, the collar didn’t stop at the base of the skull but continued to move when Roland pulled!  Roland eagerly shifted his fingers and tugged at the top part of the collar stretching and forcing the collar over the rounded part of the skull.  Then he pulled the collar out on one side to force it over an ear and then the other…   
          Suddenly, like a cork coming out of a bottle, a loud “POP” sounded.  Roland fell back on the ground with the collar in his hands and the dog was free!  Before Roland could recover his balance, the dog leaped up and snatched the wand from the counter with his mouth.  Whirling smoothly around the dog headed swiftly towards the door.  Roland watched a blur of black veer away from the door jumping instead through the window shattering the glass along the way.  In an instant, the dog had vanished completely from sight!

*********************

          “Well!” said Roland to himself as he stood up.  “So much for “thank-yous!”  He brushed himself off and looked around thoughtfully.  Bellatrix’s wand had been hidden in the room. Maybe his wand was here as well. Roland stretched out his hand _“Accio wand!”_ he called out forcefully.  Nothing happened.  “Darn!” he muttered in disappointment.  “Oh well,” he told himself with resignation, “it was just a thought.”  Roland looked at the collar still in his hand.  It was of no use to him but Roland was reluctant to toss something he knew to be bewitched metal where Muggles might find it.  Roland finally stuffed the collar in his pocket to give to Wizard Pilkington later.  He would surely know what to do with it.  
          Thinking of Wizard Pilkington, Roland looked around and drew out his cell phone.  It looked like a safe enough place to call; he would be quite worried about Roland by now.  
          “Did you use your wand?” exploded the voice in Roland’s ear.  Roland winced at the question.  Why did he have to bring up the wand so soon?  Couldn’t he have at least asked how Roland was first?  But of course he did not know about the second incident with the dog and so would assume Roland was not only fine as previously reported but in a secure location as instructed.  The voice had answered on the first ring, a sure indication he had been waiting anxiously for Roland’s call.  
          “Y-yes, sir,” replied Roland guiltily knowing full well he was supposed to watch not act.  
          “What spell?”  
_“Expelliarmus!”_  
          A long silence followed.  They both knew there was only one reason to use that spell which meant Roland must have been more involved in Bellatrix’s death than previously mentioned.  “Anything else?”  
          “No sir,” replied Roland breathing a sigh of relief glad he hadn’t been asked to explain further.   
          “Proceed to the Lockhart Dueling Club as soon as possible.  You need to practice your dueling skills…  I’ll meet you there to observe your progress.”  
          Ingenious, actually, one extra _Expelliarmus_ amongst many would never be noticed within a dueling club.  There was just one problem with that… “I don’t have my wand!” blurted Roland knowing a lack of a wand had just compounded his troubles.   
          Another long silence followed.  “Where is it?” the voice finally asked.  
          “I don’t know,” replied Roland honestly.  
          “Where did you last see it?”  
          “On the ground next to Bellatrix, uh, next to her body… I’ve, uh, still got some disillusionment charm,” Roland added tentatively filling the silence that followed.  “I could try to sneak back and get it…”  
          “Negative,” responded the voice firmly.  “It’s too dangerous.  You go to the club and practice.”  
          “But I can’t go there without a wand!” protested Roland.   
           “A wand is not necessary for practice,” countered the voice.  “Now, go to the club!  That’s an order!” the voice insisted sternly.  Then it added in a softer tone, “Let me worry about the wand.”  
          “Y-yes, sir,” replied Roland reluctantly.  Making it an order changed the situation. It would be dire consequences if he failed to follow the orders of a Superior officer.  Roland turned off the phone and walked to the door.  Pulling it open Roland cautiously poked his head out.  The alley was empty so Roland stepped quietly outside.  He turned and followed the narrow alley until it came out on the street that adjoined Grimmauld Place.  Roland moved swiftly down the sidewalk ignoring the official vehicles with sirens and blaring lights that passed by.  He reached Grimmauld Place, crossed it, and kept on going straight.

*********************

           Roland rounded the corner and reached his motorbike without incident.  After making sure there were no witnesses, he deactivated the Disillusionment Charm.  Then Roland wheeled his motorbike across the street turning it around.  He got on, started the motor and took off.   
          Roland had scarcely traveled a block when a tall figure wearing red-brown pants and a white shirt stepped out into the street blocking his way.  Normally, Roland would have quickly wheeled around the person and gone on his way, but this person held out his hand and pointed a wand at Roland!  Bellatrix’s wand!  
          Roland skidded to a stop and stared at the man.  He was tall and very thin with a thick mat of tangled gray hair that hung over his shoulders.  Ugly raw burns covered his bare feet and continued up both ankles until hidden by the too-short pant legs.  Roland recognized the clothes as some that had once hung from a line behind one of the houses at Grimmauld Place.  The man looked like a sinister street bum, but within the deep dark sockets his eyes were clear and the hand holding the wand was firm and steady.  Tucked inside his pants waistband was a second wand—Roland’s.  
          Without a word the man pointed his, Bellatrix’s, wand to a nearby narrow alley a clear indication of what he wanted.  Roland nodded his assent; their business was not for a public street.  Roland parked his bike on the street curb and walked to the alley. He could hear the man following behind with a steady limp.  
          When Roland had gone into the alley several meters, he stopped and turned around.  The man stopped too.  Swaying slightly, the man winced visibly as he readjusted his feet to a wider stance to keep his balance.  All the while the man kept the wand steadily pointed towards Roland.  Roland watched and waited.  
          “I, uh, figured you’d want your wand back,” said the man in a gravelly voice as he used his free hand to remove the wand from his waistband.  He tossed the wand to Roland.  
          Roland reached out and caught the wand his fingers welcoming it like an old friend.  “Thanks,” he said to the man as he tucked the wand securely away.  
          “Thank _you,_ ” replied the man watching Roland steadily.  “The, ah, collar?” he asked, his wand pointing towards the pocket where Roland had put it.  
          Roland looked down self-consciously.  “Uh, yeah,” he said pulling the silver collar from his pocket.   
          “It has a trace,” began the man explaining, “so the person carrying it can always be … found…”  
          “Yes, of course,” said Roland remembering how Bellatrix had used her wand to find the dog.  He held the collar out towards the man who looked at it warily.  Roland shuttered to think what might have happened had the Death Eaters looked for the dog and found Roland instead.  
          “Toss it over there,” instructed the man using his wand to point to the area behind Roland.  Roland did as he was told.  The collar fell with a loud clatter.  Before the sound had stopped, the stranger had aimed his wand and shouted _“Bombardia Maxima!”_   The collar exploded with a loud _“BOOM!”_ sending a shower of silver bits into the air.  A series of loud _“POPS”_ occurred next as the bits of silver exploded a second time when they touched each other, the walls or ground.  Both Roland and the stranger watched the silver bits continue to explode over and over again as the smaller pieces touched something until all the popping finally died out leaving a silvery powder all over the ground.  “It was supposed to explode if broken,” commented the man stating the obvious.  
          Roland stared.  He hadn’t known!  He could have used the wrong spell!  Roland looked up at the man.  “But that means you could have died!”  
          “Better that than return,” replied the man dryly looking away from Roland.  “Better you than them.”   
          The revelation left Roland shaken.  He didn’t speak, didn’t know what to say.  Not since Cousin Erik had Roland spoken with someone so—determined.  Roland could see now that this man had the same sort of look as Erik—a sadness and a haunted quality in his eyes.  
          The man shifted on his feet wincing and then said.  “That’s why it had to be _her_ wand—so it wouldn’t be traced back to you…”  
          “Oh,” said Roland overwhelmed.  He was touched by the effort the man, this stranger, had taken to protect him.  
          “That was an inspired spell by the way, whatever it was,” added the man looking back at Roland with a faint smile.  Roland felt himself flush with pride.  The man continued, “I never expected to, well, you know ... live…”  The man’s voice died and he looked down uncomfortably.  Then he looked up again at Roland.  “I took care of the bag for you,” the man said abruptly changing the subject.  
          “What?” asked Roland having forgotten all about his original purpose at Grimmauld Place.  “Oh, yes!” said Roland remembering.  “The bag!—Thanks!”  That would not have been good if the authorities had found the bag…  
          “That was an excellent sandwich by the way,” continued the man watching Roland closely.  “The best I’ve had in decades!  Did you fix it?”  
          “Uh, no,” replied Roland uncomfortably unwilling to reveal he hadn’t even known the contents of the bag.  
          “Oh.  Did the voice on the phone fix it?”  
          “Voice?”  Roland thought frantically.  How had the man known about him?  Then he remembered his first call had been made in front of the dog… “I don’t know,” Roland answered honestly.  “I think so.”  
          “Oh.  Good job,” said the man approvingly.  “Good man.  Smart!  You do what he says and he’ll keep you safe.”  
          “Yes, sir,” agreed Roland.   
          Then the man added, “It’s nice to know she had some support even if she didn’t know it.”  
          She?  Oh, the girl!  “Uh,” began Roland uncertainly, “where is she?”  
          “Mustn’t tell,” replied the man shaking his head.  “It’s too dangerous for you to know.  She needs time to do what she’s trying to do…”  
          “What’s that?”  
          The man shook his head again.  “They’d kill you for sure if they thought you knew that.  If she succeeds,” the man added with a crazy laugh, “well, it boggles the mind to think what things will be like if she succeeds…”  
          “And if she doesn’t?” asked Roland curiously.  
          The man got serious and looked Roland straight in the eyes.  “Then they’ll be sorry they ever let me live!”  And Roland felt a shiver go through his body at the words.  An emergency vehicle with loud sirens zoomed by.  The man looked up at the sound.  “I’d best be going,” he told Roland.  “And you had too!”  The man pocketed Bellatrix’s wand, turned and started limping slowly down the alley the way they had come.  Roland stared momentarily and then hurried to catch up.  
          “Don’t you hurt?” he asked the man remembering all the burns he had seen on the dog’s body.   
          The man shrugged as he walked.  “Could be worse,” he said philosophically.  They reached the main street together.  “Thanks again,” said the man and he headed slowly down the street leaving Roland standing by his bike.   
          Roland stared after him thoughtfully.  “Uh, mister,” called out Roland tentatively.  The man stopped, turned and looked at Roland.  “You want to take my motorbike?”   
          He saw the man’s eyes light up at the suggestion.  “Really?”  
          “Sure.”  
          “But what about you?” the man asked with concern.   
          “I’ve got bus money,” replied Roland confidently.   
          “But, they’ll know…”  
          “Naw,” assured Roland, “it’s Muggle technology.  They never keep track of things like that.”  
          “Well,” began the man hesitantly, “if you’re certain.”  Obviously he wanted it yet was reluctant to accept.  
          “I’m certain,” assured Roland striding forward and holding out the keys to the man.  Then Roland added, “Somehow, I think you need the bike more than me.”  
          The man looked from the keys to Roland with shining eyes.  “Thanks,” he said gruffly while taking the keys.  “This means a lot!”  He proceeded to limp over to the motorbike.  Mounting the bike the man started the motor with the ease of an experienced rider.  He looked over at Roland after he revved up the motor experimentally. “This has been an incredible morning!” he told Roland with a smile that seemed to light up his face.  “Simply incredible!”  Then the man gunned the engine and started down the street.  He increased the speed and was soon out of sight.

*********************

          As Roland started down the street towards the bus stop he pulled out his cell phone.  He could not let anyone unnecessarily risk his or her life trying to locate his wand…  
          “Report,” came the voice.  
          “I’ve got my wand,” said Roland without any preamble.   
          There was a silence then, “Did you go back?” the voice asked ominously.  
          “No, sir,” replied Roland firmly.  “I got it another way.”  He was glad he had managed to get the wand without disobeying orders.  
          “Very well,” said the voice.  “Has the wand been used since?”  
          “No, sir,” assured Roland.  At least he didn’t think the stranger had done anything with it.  
          “Then proceed to the original destination immediately.”  
          “Yes, sir,” said Roland.  “Uh, it may take me a bit longer to get there than expected.  I’m taking the bus.”  
          “The bus?  What about your motorbike?”  
          “It, ah, became unavailable,” replied Roland wryly.  He could hear all sorts of unasked questions in the _very_ long silence that followed.   
          “Very well,” said the voice finally.  “Get there as soon as you can.”  
          “Yes, sir,” said Roland.  He closed the phone and returned it to his pocket.  _“The man was right,”_ he thought as he moved swiftly down the sidewalk.  _“This has been an incredible morning!”_

 


	20. Chapter 20

          “School’s out,” mused Holly as she neared the Hogwarts castle.  “I wonder if anyone is there now?”  Suddenly the air grew cold and the sky darkened.  Holly looked up and saw several dementors swooping towards her.  _“NO!”_ she thought in a panic.  “Keep walking!  Keep moving!” she told herself remembering what Ravindra had told her.  But it didn’t work.  The dementors slowed when they reached Holly and circled overhead causing Holly to sink to her knees!  She felt like she was drowning in the cold.  
_“NO!” screamed Holly as she again watched the tree vanish before her.  “NO!” she whimpered all alone in the Hufflepuff tower. “I killed him!” came Albus’ voice filling Holly with overwhelming waves of depression.  “No!” thought Holly as the marsh mist cleared revealing another burned body, and another and another!!! “NO!” she moaned feeling Ravindra’s anguish at her family’s death.  “They’re dead!!” she thought helplessly with Ravindra. ”All dead!”_

********************

          “Wake up Missy!  Wake up!”  Someone was slapping Holly’s face repeatedly.  “Open your eyes, Missy,” the voice said.  “I want to see them.”  
          The words made no sense to Holly; she was drowning in thoughts of death.  Nothing made sense; Holly just felt the overwhelming urge to end it all.   
          “Open your eyes!” the voice insisted.  “I want to see them!”  The slapping continued.   
          “Leave me alone!” Holly moaned.  “I want to die!”   
          The slapping stopped momentarily.  “Time enough for that later,” assured the voice unsympathetically.  The slapping resumed.  “Come on, open up!  I want to see those eyes!” insisted the voice.  With considerable effort Holly managed to open her eyes.  The sudden light seemed blinding.  She squeezed them shut again but the slapping stopped.  “Green eyes!  That’s what I thought!” said the voice with satisfaction and Holly felt a sense of recognition.  That was important somehow, but Holly didn’t know why or care.  She only wanted to die—to join her family and friends.   
          “Let me die!” she moaned longing for the peace of oblivion.  
          “You still want to die?” came that voice, “I have the perfect place for you to do that, yes I do!  You just come along with me, Missy.”  And Holly felt herself hauled up by the arm.  Her arm was draped over the person’s shoulder and Holly was pulled forward.  With her eyes still closed, Holly moved along unresistingly.  
          Dimly Holly realized the ground underneath changed from gravel to stone.  She stumbled up some stairs and the sound of her footsteps echoed familiarly as she moved.  When she ventured to open her eyes, Holly found herself moving up a familiar flight of steps.  She couldn’t see much of the person holding her; didn’t care.  She closed her eyes again.  All the while she heard the voice muttering to himself—some of the phrases drifted into her head.  “…make a fine surprise for him! … one meeting I can’t wait to see!  … ”  The words held no meaning for Holly.   
          They moved off the stairs and down a corridor.  “Come on, Missy,” the voice encouraged.  “Keep moving!  Not much longer, then you can die all you want.”  The thought of being permitted to die motivated Holly to move her legs.  The two stopped and Holly heard the voice say, “Venomous Viper!” and then she heard,  “Just another few steps, Missy.  You can do it!” while being urged forward.  They stopped again and Holly felt the sensation of rising.   
          “Almost there!” said the voice cheerfully when the movement stopped.  Holly heard the creak of a door open and felt herself pulled forward.  After a few steps they stopped again and the grip on her arm let go.  Holly dropped landing in a chair.  She slumped forward and slid down not caring where she was.  “No, no, no!” said the voice.  “Not like that!”   
          “Ow!” Holly moaned as she felt a grip under her armpit pulling her upwards.  Then she felt a pressure at her waist and dimly recognized it as straps holding her in place.  Holly continued to slump down as much as the bindings permitted.  Meanwhile, her arm was moved away from the body and held in place on an armrest; then the other arm was moved and bound.  
          “There!” said the voice with satisfaction.  “That should hold you!  Now you can die all you want, Missy!” the voice told Holly.  “In the meantime, there’s someone I want you to see—or rather, to see you!  You wait here and I’ll be right back.  Feel free to die while you wait, or not…  Either way, this should be good!” the voice chuckled.  There was a loud click and then silence.

********************

            “She doesn’t look good!” came a new voice, an unfamiliar female voice.  “Do you think he hurt her?”  
            “I don’t think so, Dilys,” said another voice.  “He knows better than to hurt them.”  
            “But all that talk about death and he had such a nasty grin on his face when he left her…” said the first voice worriedly.  
            “Well, she’s not a student, so he might treat her differently…  Miss?” inquired the voice gently.  “Are you all right?”  
          Even in her depressed state, Holly knew there was something decidedly odd about the voices.  She could hear them, but there was nobody there!  Holly could not sense a single emotion!  Curious, Holly lifted her head turning it in the direction of the sound and opened her eyes.  She found herself staring into the face of an old wizard with a long white beard…  
          “You!” exploded Holly momentarily forgetting her depression when she saw the person in the portrait looking at her.  “How did you know?”  
          “Know what?” replied the portrait of Dumbledore looking somewhat surprised at Holly’s reaction.  
          “Know about me and the curse?” explained Holly.  
          “The curse?”  
          “The _Time Reverse Curse_ ,” replied Holly impatiently.  “How did you know I was coming?”  
          “I didn’t,” said Dumbledore simply.  
          “Of course you did!” argued Holly.  “You left that packet with Mrs. Figg for me!”  
          “Oh,” said Dumbledore.  “That.”  Dumbledore shifted uncomfortably in his chair.  “That was for Mrs. Figg.”  
          “No it wasn’t!” disagreed Holly.  “You told her to hold it for me!  She said so!”  
          “Times were bad,” replied Dumbledore softly.  “And they were sure to get worse.  I knew something had happened the moment I discovered the Dursley family had disappeared on the very day young Harry vanished.  I also found the plaque in the tree and the one in the trophy room…  It was a _Time Reverse Curse_ , you say?  Interesting.  I never knew for sure, but that would fit the facts.  I take it Harry wasn’t supposed to die in the Chamber of Secrets.”   
          “No,” agreed Holly, “he wasn’t.”  
          “Of course, I could do nothing about the curse once it was enacted.  I was affected, like everyone else.  I thought the changes were irreversible,” confessed Dumbledore softly. “While Harry Potter’s family appeared untouched by whatever had happened; they were Muggles and only a wizard could undo things.  But Mrs. Figg was scared, very scared,” he continued.  “So I put together a packet.  I gave it to Mrs. Figg and told her to watch the Dursley place.  I didn’t tell her that there was little chance that she’d ever _see_ someone.  No one knew Mrs. Figg was living there, you see,” continued Dumbledore.  “Mrs. Figg was safest if she stayed put.  The packet gave her purpose, kept her safe and if need be, could help her should she open it.”  
          Holly stared at the portrait devastated.  Despite, everything in the back of her mind had been Mrs. Figg’s unwavering confidence in Dumbledore…  If he didn’t think she could do it, hadn’t even known she was coming then…  
          The door opened.  Holly swung her head around recognizing the emotion that had arrived.  “Headmas—”  
          “I don’t believe we have met!” came a cold voice stopping Holly’s words.  “Well?  Have we?” demanded Headmaster Snape icily in the silence that followed.  
          “No, sir, I don’t expect we have,” replied Holly softly and she turned her head away from the Headmaster so he wouldn’t see the tears that flowed freely down her face.

********************

          Severus Snape looked down at the too familiar form strapped in the chair before him.  It was a good thing Pettigrew hadn’t been able to conceal the smirk on his face when he informed Severus that a trespasser had been found on Hogwarts grounds.  That had enabled Severus to steel himself against whatever he found in his office upon arrival.  Better yet, Severus was glad he had had the presence of mind to order Pettigrew to check the Hogwarts grounds against other intruders insuring Pettigrew would not be present when he viewed the trespasser.  
          The girl’s looks were undoubtedly part of some plot cooked up by Pettigrew to discredit Severus but that didn’t explain the voices Severus heard as he stood outside the door.  Severus had been shocked when he realized the portrait to which the girl had been talking was Dumbledore!  Dumbledore rarely spoke to Severus, never to the students, and surely shouldn’t have been talking to a trespasser on Hogwarts grounds!  
          Severus looked up at Dumbledore,  “What have _you_ to do with all this?” he asked accusingly.  
          “Nothing,” replied Dumbledore sadly.  And the portrait retreated into his familiar position of appearing to sleep in his chair though Severus had no doubt it would listen to every word spoken in the room.  
          Severus strode into the room and again returned his attention to the girl in the chair.  She sat with her head bowed.  Strands of blonde hair hung down on both sides hiding her face.  “What’s your name?” he asked.  
          “Kill me!” the girl said instead.  
          “What?”              
          “Kill me!  Please!” the girl repeated louder not looking up.  
          “Why?”  
          “They’re all dead,” she moaned, “my family, friends, everyone!  Except—I should be dead too!” she spoke with renewed energy.  “Kill me, please!”  
          Severus frowned as he studied the girl.  Usually victims begged for death during or after interrogations, not before and rarely did victims this young beg for death.  There had to be some other cause.  The dementors!  Of course!  They were ravenous with no students around.  Pettigrew hadn’t mentioned any dementors but then he wouldn’t.  Pettigrew only said that he had found a trespasser.  Most likely, the dementors found her first.  The dementors wouldn’t kill without specific orders, but how long had they fed on the girl before Pettigrew came on the scene?  
          Severus could get no answers from a person so depressed.  He walked over to his desk and opened a drawer where he always kept a supply of chocolate.  Severus hesitated before selecting a piece—sweetened or bitter?  The Slytherins always got the sweetened pieces and the girl was no Slytherin—not with thoughts of suicide.  But the girl was no Non either, not one that he recognized.  Severus picked out a sweetened piece.  _“The attack had been severe,”_ he decided justifying his decision.  She would need the extra energy the sugar provided.    
          He walked back to the girl, knelt down and brought the chocolate to her mouth.  “Eat,” Severus instructed.  The girl immediately twisted her head away from the chocolate refusing.   Severus put his other hand on her head firmly holding the head in one place and brought the chocolate again to her lips.  “Open your mouth and eat!” he ordered firmly, “or I shall force it down your throat!”  
          Reluctantly, the girl parted her lips, just a bit, and Severus pushed the chocolate into her mouth.  He remained in place holding the head watching to make sure she didn’t spit the chocolate back out.  Severus nodded with satisfaction when he saw her swallow.  Then he released her head and stood back up.  “What’s your name?” he asked in a gentler tone.   
          “H-Holly, sir,” the girl replied in a trembling voice still not looking at him, “Holly Wycliff.”  
          The name was unfamiliar but that did not matter.  She no longer spoke of death.  He would learn the truth soon enough now that she had begun talking.  “That’s better,” commented Severus calmly.  “Now, why have you come to Hogwarts?”  
          In response, the girl gave a shudder and shook her head.  
          “Miss Wycliff,” began Severus sternly, “I have numerous potions at my disposal from which to select to make you talk, some of which are quite painful…” He paused to let that sink in and then continued.  “The choice is yours whether you answer my questions or I find some other means to make you … talk.”  Severus let his voice die off suggestively.  Most chose to talk even if they spoke lies rather than drink a potion and risk loosing control of what they said.  Of course, potions could still be used should more intensive questioning be required.  But Severus saw no reason to tell the girl this; she would find out soon enough.  “Why have you come to Hogwarts?” he asked again.  
          “It doesn’t matter,” the girl said dully.  “I’ve changed my mind.  Kill me, please,” she begged still not looking at him.  
          The voice sounded sincere.  This was no dementor’s plead.  There was more going on with the girl, but what?  
          “Excuse me,” interrupted the voice of Phineas Black.  “But I’ve a message to pass on from Bellatrix Lestrange.  Ordinarily, I wouldn’t bother you when you are busy,” he apologized, “but I received the message almost two hours ago.  You've been out and it _was_ labeled “urgent.”  
          “Very well,” replied Severus calmly.  “Proceed.”  There was time enough to deal with the girl.  
          “It seems as if Mrs. Lestrange would like all wizards to be on the look-out for a young girl with long, blonde hair and green eyes who may or may not be a witch.”  Severus’ eyes involuntarily flew down to look at the hand of the girl seated strapped in the chair.  It did not bear a Muggle mark but he did not expect it to.  Muggles could not get through the defenses of Hogwarts.  “If she should turn up,” continued Phineas, “you are to restrain her for further questioning.  Apparently she was last seen in the company of Sirius Black…”   
_"Black!!_ _That couldn’t be!”_ thought Severus in shock. The imprisonment of Sirius Black was a closely guarded secret!  No one else should even know about him let alone _be_ with him!  Severus learned about Sirius’ imprisonment quite by accident when Pettigrew let it slip one night while under the influence of butterbeer.  Severus had debated long and hard with Dumbledore about the wisdom of passing the information to the then shattered remnants of the resistance.  In the end, Severus had done nothing.  To do otherwise, Dumbledore insisted, would jeopardize Severus’ position as Headmaster.  “Is Bellatrix there now?” inquired Severus maintaining a calm sounding voice.  
          “No,” replied Phineas.  “I got the impression that Sirius had managed to run off and she intended to fetch and question him further.  She hasn’t returned so I suspect that Sirius is proving a more difficult subject than she expected.  Bellatrix seemed rather angry about the whole thing; she might even loose control and accidentally kill him!”  
          “No!” said the girl unexpectedly, her voice filled with emotion.  
          “Don’t be upset, child,” said Phineas soothingly while he looked down at the girl.  “If he should die because of what happened at the house then you have done him a favor.  Sirius has been trying to get himself killed for years!  And I heard what you said about me, by the way,” Phineas added as an aside.  “That was very sweet of you.”  
          Severus stared.  A _second_ portrait talking to her—and as if they were old friends no less!  That was unheard of!  “How did you get in Sirius’ house?” asked Severus bluntly.  It was plain this was the girl Bellatrix was seeking and Severus saw no point in giving her opportunity to deny it.   
          “How do you think?” responded the girl impatiently with her head still down.  “I knocked on the door and he answered!  Why does everyone keep asking that?” she added with frustration.  
_Everyone?_   Who else had asked that?  Bellatrix, of course, but Sirius too?  That meant he wasn’t in on this whatever _this_ was.  Severus studied the girl thoughtfully.  Keeping her head hidden was no dementor’s fluke either.  Even with a quick glimpse, Severus was acutely aware of the resemblance that had made Pettigrew smirk.  Obviously the girl knew it too—or knew there was something about her face.  Why wasn’t she trying to use it to her advantage?   
          “The Black family home is unplottable,” Severus explained softly.  It didn’t hurt to tell her what she should have already known.  “You can only get there if a secret keeper tells you the location.  
          “Oh,” came a small voice.  “Well, no one here told me.  I figured it out myself.”   
_No one here?_ What did that mean?   _Figured it out?_ What was there to figure?  Severus took a deep breath.  It would be interesting to pursue this line of questioning further but that was Bellatrix’s problem.  Of immediate concern to Severus was the girl’s presence at Hogwarts.  How had she managed to penetrate its defenses so easily and quickly?  “How did you get to Hogwarts?” Severus asked abruptly.  
          “Kreacher brought me,” came the soft reply.  
          “Kreacher?” questioned Severus.  The name was not familiar.  
          “The house elf.”  
          A house elf?  Was that possible?  Severus would have to investigate elf magic further… Did Sirius have a house elf all this time?  Why hadn’t he used it earlier?  Why now?  It must have been the girl’s idea!  How did she know the elf could bypass Hogwarts’ defenses?   
          “Why did you come to Hogwarts?” Severus asked again.  But the girl shook her head in refusal.  
          “Tell him,” urged Dumbledore gently.  
          Severus looked at the portrait in disbelief.  Dumbledore had never involved himself in an interrogation before!  What was it about this girl?  
          The girl shook her head. “I can’t!” she finally exploded looking up at Dumbledore.   
          “Why?” persisted Dumbledore.  
          “Because he’ll DIE!”  
_“Who?”_ wondered Severus while listening to the exchange.  
          “All the more reason why he should know,” replied Dumbledore calmly.  
          But she shook her head again.  “They’re dead!” she repeated with conviction.  “All dead.  All except _him_.  I can’t let _him_ die too!”  
          “Not necessarily,” countered Dumbledore.   
_“Huh?”_ thought Severus.  
          “Just because I didn’t know you were coming doesn’t mean you can’t succeed,” continued Dumbledore encouragingly.  “Look at how far you have gotten!”  
          “It’s too late,” moaned the girl.  “They already know.  That man, he went to get someone.”  
          “That was the caretaker,” informed Dumbledore.  “He went to get the Headmaster, of course.  You still have time, if you explain things.”  
          “But then he’ll _die!_ ”  
          “We all die eventually,” responded Dumbledore softly.  
           As they spoke, it gradually occurred to Severus about whom they were speaking.  “Am I to understand,” he began tentatively, “that the person you are so afraid will die is me?”  There was no answer.  Severus used his wand to swirl the chair around quickly before the girl had a chance to turn her head.  “Well?” he demanded confronting her directly.  
          But the girl tried to hide.  “Don’t look at me!” she insisted desperately twisting her head aside.  Severus bent down, took hold of the girl’s chin, and turned it forcing her to face him.  He could see her features better.  She looked ever so familiar, even with her eyes squeezed shut.  
          “Why?”  
          “Please don’t!” she insisted through the tears streaming out from her closed eyes.  Severus waited.  He knew she would find the silence unbearable.  “I’m not Lily Evans!” the girl finally blurted.  “You mustn’t do things for me because of her!”  
          “I know you’re not Lily Evans,” replied Severus softly.  Lily never cried so.  While Pettigrew would have known and recognized the Lily-like features in her from their old school days, he would have never known what that truly meant to Severus.  It was clear this girl knew full well how much Severus had loved Lily.  How?  
          “Why?” he asked calmly.  He removed his hand from her chin.  This time the head remained facing him though she still kept her eyes tightly closed as if per chance he hadn’t already noticed her startling green eyes.  
          “Because,” she gulped and sniffed loudly, “if you do, you’re gonna _die!”_   Then she started crying openly, huge sobs wracked the air.  
          “Miss Wycliff,” began Severus when the sobbing died down.  “I appreciate the concern but I assure you I am quite capable of caring for myself.”  
          “Not this time,” the girl argued positively.  
          “Why?”  
          “Because—” the girl broke off.  “No!” she stated flatly and again twisted her head aside in refusal.  
          Severus knelt down to her eye level, rather her ear level as her head was again turned.  “Why do you _care?_ ” he whispered clarifying his question.  “You owe me that much,” he added persuasively certain that once she started talking he would learn everything…  
          There was a long silence.  Then the girl took a deep breath and spoke.  “You don’t know me,” she began while looking down at the floor, “but I know you!  To me, you are the kindest most wonderful person I have ever met and I can’t bear to have you die again!”  
          “Again?” echoed Severus softly.  “When?” The girl was clearly delusional but so _sincere_ —willing to die for her delusions!  
          “My first year at Hogwarts,” replied the girl.  
_First year???_   Severus knew positively she had _never_ attended Hogwarts but he listened anyway.  Her manner and voice was not that of a liar.  Was she bewitched?  By whom?  Why?  
          “I was lost, alone and scared,” continued the girl, “but then you came along.  You rescued me.  You figured out what was happening, gave me her wand…”  
_“Her wand_?” thought Severus. _“Lily’s?  How did she know about that?”_    
          “…and then took me to the trophy room so I could go home.”  
_“Trophy room?”_ thought Severus.  _“What did she know about the trophy room?”_   The girl’s fantasy was mixed with information she should not have!  How could she have gotten it?  Why couldn’t he detect any falsehood or witchcraft about her?  And there was Dumbledore!  He had abandoned his appearance of sleep and was listening intently.  Did he actually take all this seriously?  “Why the trophy room?” Severus asked in a whisper almost afraid to hear her answer.  There was only one thing remotely magical in the trophy room and she shouldn’t know about _that_ either.  But Severus was fairly certain she did.  
          Given the time it took for her to respond Severus guessed the answer contained information she did not want to reveal, though he couldn’t see how.  “There’s a silver plaque in there,” she finally said, as Severus knew she would.  
          “You mean the one with Diggory’s name?” queried Severus softly seeking holes in her story, evidence of fakery.  
          “There’s one for Cedric?” asked the girl with interest.  She was quick to seize a change in topic.  “That’s nice.  It’s so sad what happened to him.  I don’t suppose it’s much better than dying.”  
          “Is that the one?” asked Severus avoiding her question and comments while wondering what she meant.  “The plaque you mean?” If she had been to the trophy room she would have known Cedric had a trophy not a plaque—a visible reminder that even Tri-wizard Champions were no match for the Dark Lord.  
          “No, of course not,” replied the girl uncomfortably.   
          “Which one, then?”  
          “The one that doesn’t fit.”  
          “Doesn’t fit?”  
          “It’s just names, not an award.”  
          “What names?”  
           The girl turned to Severus; he could see the tears streaming down her face.  “Please don’t make me,” she whispered.  “All that other, it doesn’t matter any more.  It seems like a dream.  I’ve had this awful emptiness inside me ever since last time!  Nothing else seems real but you—here—alive now, and I can’t bear to loose you again.”  
          “Those names have been there for years,” persisted Severus calmly ignoring her fear and desperation.  “Surely it won’t hurt to repeat them.”  She couldn’t be bewitched.  Not and have emotions as strong as these.  Something else was going on.  But what?  
          “G-Ginny Weasley,” she began hesitantly, “and T-Tom Riddle.”  
          “That plaque is a piece of very dark magic,” observed Severus noting with interest she hadn’t mentioned the third name on the plaque.  
          “Yes, sir,” agreed the girl promptly.  
          “One shouldn’t touch pieces like that,” he continued neutrally.  
          “No, sir,” she agreed, almost happily.  This, then, touching the plaque, must be the action she thought would seal his doom.  But Severus had already touched the plaque and it had done nothing…  Whose touch did it require?  
          “You need to tell him the rest,” came the voice of Dumbledore.  He peered down at her through his wire-rimmed glasses.  
          The girl opened her eyes as she looked up at Dumbledore, “No!” she argued faintly.  
          Severus stared at Dumbledore thoughtfully and then sighed.  “He’s right, you know,” he said gently to the girl while standing up.  “I’m touched by your concern, truly I am,” and indeed no one had ever expressed this degree of interest in Severus’ welfare, “but you’re too young to be making decisions like that alone or to bear the burden of them later.  And it _is_ my life you speak of,” Severus added softly.  “I’d like some say in the matter.  But whatever I decide,” he continued, “I can assure you that it won’t be because you look like Lily Evans.”  Definitely not!  While Severus loved Lily fiercely with all his heart, Lily had never known or _returned_ his affection.  This child was a totally different person.  
          “I’m guessing it has something to do with Harry Potter, am I right?”  Harry Potter was the one name she hadn’t mentioned from the plaque.  And her looks had to mean something…  
          Miss Wycliff looked down again.  She shuddered and then nodded.  
          “But he’s dead…”  
          “No, sir, he’s not,” contradicted the girl softly.  “Not, really,” she corrected herself.  “At least he wasn’t dead when he said “good-bye” to me at the station last month.  And he wasn’t dead when he gave me the address to the Black residence last fall.  He said I was family and should have it…  Cousin Harry inherited the house, you see, after Sirius died.”  
          “Cousin!”  
          “Yes, sir.  His mum, Lily, was my grandmum’s sister.   People who knew Lily say I look a lot like her,” she finished.  
          “But the name?”  
          “It got changed when Cousin Harry moved out,” she said calmly.  “It used to be Dursley.”  
          “Dursley?” said Severus faintly.  “But there are no Dursleys!” he added remembering how Tom Riddle had initiated a search for the Potter relatives years earlier.  The relatives were Muggles of little importance; Severus thought the search rather odd.  He had thought it odder still when they weren’t found—not even bodies.  Severus had to admit that a relationship to Harry was the best explanation for Miss Wycliff’s appearance.  “But how could the family have been hidden for so long…?”  
          “It hasn’t been long,” said the girl interrupting his thoughts.  Severus hadn’t realized he had spoken aloud.  “…not for me,” she amended.  Severus looked at her for further explanation.  Miss Wycliff was silent and then took a deep breath.  “Three days ago,” she began, “my brother Vernon found something in a tree outside the Dursley place.  I’m guessing it was a plaque; at least it had similar words.  And I’m sure he touched it because suddenly, he was gone, my mum was gone, my dad frozen and everything went all different!  Now Vernon’s strapped in this horrible chair sitting in the dark starving to death, if he isn’t already dead, all because of me!”  
          “You?” questioned Severus.  It hadn’t sounded like she had done anything.  
          “I didn’t tell him about the plaque!” she cried.  “Vernon’s Muggle, you see.  I didn’t think he’d understand or that it would matter to him.  We didn’t know there was another one,” she sobbed, “or they would have gotten rid of it too!”   
          A Muggle brother?  That made the girl a Mudblood (without a mark) who had considerable knowledge about the wizard world and claimed to attend Hogwarts!  It was an impossible combination—yet here she was!  Further, Severus could detect no hint of magic or deception about her!  “If it’s a plaque you need,” began Severus cautiously, “Why didn’t you use the one on the tree?”  
          “It’s gone!” Miss Wycliff wailed, “the plaque, the tree everything!  Blown up or something!  The only other one I knew about was at Hogwarts and I’ve had a positively horrible time trying to get to it!”  And she burst into more tears!   
          Severus conjured a handkerchief while trying to imagine what kind of magic could cause the events she described.  Suddenly he realized he had the answer, or had once, if the girl was to be believed.  And so far, outside of wild improbable stories, he had no reason not to believe her.  “You said I figured it out?” he questioned softly while he knelt and gently wiped the tears from her face.  Miss Wycliff nodded.  “What did I say it was?” he asked placing the handkerchief in a pocket.  
          “You didn’t,” she gulped sniffing loudly.  “But Headmistress McGonagall said it must be a _Time Reverse_ _Curse_.”  
_McGonagall?_   She was dead, wasn’t she?  “A _Time Reverse Curse?_ ” repeated Severus thoughtfully.  Were such things even possible?  Apparently, if the girl was to be believed.  And it would take a wizard of considerable skill to accomplish it.  
          “Yes, sir,” replied Miss Wycliff.  “It reversed everything back to the day Harry Potter met Tom Riddle.”   
          “I wasn’t aware Harry Potter had ever met Tom Riddle,” commented Severus trying to absorb the new information.  Harry had vanished nearly two years before Tom Riddle appeared at the Dark Lord's side.  Riddle had certainly never mentioned having met Harry Potter.  But who knew where Tom Riddle had been before his appearance.  Riddle might have had the knowledge to work such a curse, were he around.  
          “He did, sir,” replied Holly sniffing and trying to stifle her sobs, “in the Chamber of Secrets.  Cousin Harry fought a basilisk there and then, I guess he fought Tom Riddle ‘cause Tom was there too.”   
          “So Tom Riddle lost the encounter?”  
          “Yes sir, I mean he should have.  But Tom Riddle used Ginny Weasley to fix things so if he actually lost, time would rewind back to that day so he could try again, and this time be certain of winning!  Riddle meant for Cousin Harry to find the plaque in the trophy room but Cousin Harry never did.  Instead, Albus did—two years ago—and now my brother!”  
          “Albus?”  
          “Cousin Harry’s son, Albus Severus Potter,” she replied explaining, “Albus has green eyes, like me and Vernon.  The plaque calls to people with green eyes.”    
          “And I helped you because you looked like Lily?”  
          “Y-yes sir.”   
          There was just a slight hesitation before she answered, a pause that told Severus Miss Wycliff was lying, or at least telling a half-truth.  He’d have thought all her resistance had worn down by now but apparently not.  “Was that the only reason?” he asked her sternly his voice letting the girl know he didn’t believe her.  
          “Y-yes.”   
          Severus waited letting the silence between them grow uncomfortable.   
          “N-no, sir,” Miss Wycliff said finally, her shoulders slumping in defeat.  “Cousin Harry said you made a p-promise to help protect him, for Lily’s sake...and you did!  He regretted he never had a chance to apologize or say “thank you.”   
          “And the Dark Lord?”  
          “Who?” Miss Wycliff asked in confusion.  
          “The Dark Lord!” repeated Severus.  Didn’t she know the name?  “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,” Severus said trying for a phrase more commonly used.  
          “Oh! You mean Lord Voldemor—sorry,” Miss Wycliff added quickly, “I shouldn’t have said that!”  
          “I think we can manage hearing it once,” replied Severus dryly.  He had winced at her words but noted she said the Dark Lord’s name without fear—something not likely these days.  “But only once,” he warned.  The girl nodded in agreement.  “You were saying?” he encouraged.  
          “Oh, yes,” replied Miss Wycliff, “Cousin Harry defeated You-Know-Who a few years later.”  
          Severus was not surprised.  That had to be the case given the scenario she described.  The prophecy named Harry as the one who could vanquish the Dark Lord and had the boy been still alive when the Dark Lord returned, he would have insisted on Harry’s death.  Harry would only have managed to stay alive by defeating the Dark Lord.  Severus looked up at the portrait of Dumbledore.  “And you knew about all this?”    
          The portrait shrugged.  “Some of it,” it replied.  
          “That’s what you were talking about when I came in?”  
          “Mostly,” the portrait admitted without elaborating.   
          Severus sighed.  He pulled out his wand and caused the bindings on the chair to vanish thus freeing the girl.  She let her arms drop to her lap as she watched him.  Then he pointed his wand at his desk causing it to move.  
          “No!” she moaned softly as a small rectangular segment of the rug rose and floated in the air.  Her word confirmed that the girl knew what lay beneath the rug.  In fact, she knew too much to be a Death Eater trap or some other trick.  It was information perhaps she could have gotten from Dumbledore, given enough time, but Severus knew she hadn’t had that time.  And Dumbledore would have never provided her with such information—certainly not on a whim or a joke.  The stakes were too high.  Hearing the story, let alone acting on her words, jeopardized Severus’ position as Headmaster and that was something Dumbledore would not risk.  The piece of rug landed gently on the floor.   
          Miss Wycliff’s very presence was an anomaly: a Mudblood with no Muggle mark and a skewed knowledge of the wizard world.  Severus could think of no other explanation that fit her existence as well as the very improbable _Time Reverse Curse_.  Miss Wycliff would get her wish for death should she remain.  Even if he didn’t believe her story, the Dark Lord couldn’t afford to let her live, just in case.  
          “It isn’t often one gets to choose the manner and time of one’s death,” Severus said softly in a conversational voice as he knelt and lifted a piece of polished floorboard up and set it aside revealing a small hole beneath.  “Frankly, I’m surprised I have managed to live as long as I have, given the times and circumstances.”  Severus pointed the wand into the hole where it glowed brightly for a minute. Then he reached into the hole and lifted out a small piece of paper and a skinny long rectangular box. He looked at the paper briefly, a photo of Lily smiling happily and looked again at the girl sitting in front of him who looked amazingly like Lily.  
          “You mustn’t think I do this because of your looks,” he added noting the girl’s distressed face, “Though it certainly helps. The Potter boy was annoyingly like James.  I don’t know what Lily ever saw in James; he was nothing but an arrogant bully.  But I couldn’t deny those eyes—Harry had Lily’s eyes.” Severus tucked the photo into his robe and opened the box.  “As do you,” he added softly while holding out Lily’s wand to her.  
          “But you’ll die!” the girl protested looking helplessly at Severus.  Her green eyes glittered brightly as more tears streamed down her face.  
          “I knew that would likely happen the moment I made that promise,” Severus informed her calmly.  “I was convinced it was my fault when Potter turned up missing,” he added softly remembering.  “And have regretted my inaction that night ever since.  Dumbledore assured me I wasn’t to blame but I thought he was just being kind.  Potter was supposed to stay in the dorms,” continued Severus.  “I should have guessed he’d run off and try something stupid.  His father would have.  By the time we realized the boys were truly missing and not just out, it was too late.  I could only hope they had failed to find the chamber and would return in defeat or had somehow joined Lockhart and together they would return alive.  But Lockhart was a rather useless wizard and if they ever connected it obviously didn’t help.  I had no idea other forces were at play that night...”  Severus looked accusingly up at Dumbledore, who at least had the grace to look slightly embarrassed.   
          Severus looked down at the honey coloured wand still in his hand.  “Take it,” he insisted placing the wand in Holly’s hand.  “She’d want you to have it and I do too.”  He gently wrapped Holly’s fingers around the wand.  She was still crying silently.  “Save your tears for later,” Severus told her soothingly.  He handed the girl the handkerchief so she could wipe the tears from her face.  “I’m not dead yet.  But we should hurry.  I suspect we haven’t much time.”  
          Severus put away his wand and extended his hand to Miss Wycliff.  She stuffed the handkerchief in a pocket and placed her hand in his.  Severus drew Miss Wycliff out of the chair.  He watched quietly with interest as she pulled out the end of a belt hidden under her clothes, placed Lily’s wand carefully within it and then tucked both belt and wand out of sight.  Then Severus led her to the door.  It opened as they neared.  On the other side stood Pettigrew and Lord Voldemort!


	21. Chapter 21

          Daniel Pilkington completed a second set of practice wizard duels and then checked the time.  If his calculations were correct, he had enough time for one more set before Roland would arrive.  The Guilderoy Lockhart Dueling Club was established in honor of the noted Dark Arts Wizard fighter, author and Hogwarts Professor.  He was the only one to return alive after the boy Harry Potter and the two other children had vanished presumably in the Chamber of Secrets.  Unfortunately, Wizard Lockhart’s mind remained so muddled from the experience that no one ever learned what happened that day.  Most people were convinced that only Lockhart’s expert wizarding skills had enabled him to survive that fateful night at all.   
          Daniel came to the club periodically to maintain his spell-casting scores, a necessary requirement for work. The club had numerous bewitched suits of armor holding mock wands that moved around and shot out stinging sparks at varying levels of difficulty against which one could practice.  Daniel never dueled against another wizard unless ordered and then he made sure he “lost” in a convincing fashion.  He had investigated several cases of  “accidental” wand breakage during the course of his work.  Often, the Non reporting was rather good at dueling and too experienced to let such “accidents” occur.  That left deliberate breakage, which would have only happened by Slytherin order.  Daniel liked his wand too much to risk that.  
          Daniel finished his third set and sat at a quiet table in the corner of the main practice room.  The dueling club was also a popular gathering place for wizards, mostly Nons, to just socialize.  Daniel fixed himself a soda and rested while watching anxiously for Roland.  Despite Roland’s assurance that he was “O.K.” Daniel knew he wouldn’t breathe easy until he saw Roland for himself.   
          Bellatrix dead!  And by a dog no less!  How could that be possible?  More importantly, what would the Death Eaters do when they found out?  What would _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_ do?  
          Daniel had checked the news reports before coming to the club and Bellatrix’s name had not been mentioned.  How much time did they have before her body was identified and reprisals began?  Daniel longed to pass the word to tell the Nons to prepare for the worst, but didn’t.  Ignorance was their only defense right now and Non reaction to the news had to be genuine.  Anyone familiar with Bellatrix’s death before the Slytherins released the news would be immediately suspected of having been involved.  Daniel had to make Roland appear just as ignorant as the rest of the population so no one would ask him a question the answer to which would reveal otherwise.   
          Daniel took another sip of his soda and then saw Roland walk through the door.  He looked dirty but otherwise unharmed.  Relieved, Daniel stood and caught Roland’s eye.  Roland made his way swiftly to Daniel.  “You look like you’ve fallen,” said Daniel before Roland had a chance to speak.  There were huge splotches of multi-colored mud on Roland’s face and shirt.   “Are you O.K.?”  That was for the benefit of the Slytherin spies that always lurked at the club listening for words of discontentment and watching for illegal activities.  
          “Yes, sir,” affirmed Roland  
          Daniel pulled out his wand and aimed it at Roland.  _“Terego!”_ he said.  Immediately the mud and gunk vanished from Roland’s face and chest but not before Daniel’s shocked mind registered the huge size of the splotches—paw prints?  Roland had said there was a big dog involved but hadn’t specified how big…  Daniel wondered what kind of dog could create prints that size?  “If you wish to work for Security you must keep your appearance up at all times!” Daniel told Roland sternly.  “We have an image to keep,” he added in a lecturing tone.  “You need to maintain it both on and off duty!”  
          “Yes, sir,” replied Roland sounding properly contrite but his eyes were shining and he didn’t look the least bit distressed at Daniel’s scolding.  They both knew Daniel’s words were for the benefit of any eavesdroppers.  
          “Time to get to work,” admonished Daniel.  “Have you ever been to the Dueling Club before?” he asked while moving to the nearest dueling station.   
          “No, sir,” replied Roland as he followed Daniel.  
          “I think you’ll find it rather different from practice at Hogwarts,” explained Daniel.  “Why don’t you warm up with some simple dueling?”  
          “Yes, sir,” replied Roland drawing out his wand.   
          Daniel held out his hand to examine Roland’s wand.  Roland readily handed the wand to him.  The wand seemed to be in good condition.  _“Miss!”_ hissed Daniel as he returned the wand.  Roland nodded.  Daniel walked over to an armored suit.  He adjusted the settings to “difficult.”  “Ready?” he asked Roland as he stood back.  
          Roland took his place opposite the suit. “Ready,” replied Roland.  He raised his wand and waited for the suit to do the same. _“Expelliarmus!”_ Roland shouted as soon as the suit started to move.  But he had spoken a fraction too soon.  Roland hadn’t finished aiming properly and the spell hit the gloved wrist of the suit instead of the wand.  Immediately a low buzz sounded and the wand spit out a series of stinging sparks at Roland.  Roland yelped and jumped in surprise as the sparks landed on his arm.  
          “You’ll have to do better than that if you want in Security,” said Daniel critically.  “Again!”  
          Roland looked at Daniel before raising his wand.  Daniel shook his head just a fraction. _“Expelliarmus!”_ shouted Roland but again his shot missed the wand and the suit stung him.  
          “You need to focus!”  Daniel urged.  This time Daniel nodded slightly and Roland’s aim struck true.  Immediately the wand flew out of the suit’s gloved hand and clattered to the ground.   
          “That’s more like it!” said Daniel approvingly retrieving the wand and returning it to the suit.  “Again!” but Daniel shook his head as he spoke and Roland again scored a near miss.  
          Time and time again Roland shot at the suit missing more times than not until Daniel judged any watchers had lost count and would recognize Roland indeed needed wand practice.  Then Daniel gradually nodded more and more times permitting Roland to “improve” as a result of his practice.  
          “I think you’ve got it now,” said Daniel warmly coming up to Roland after the wand flew again out of the suit’s glove.  “You need it for the entrance exam, but honestly, there’s not much call for _Expelliarmus_ out in the field.  It’s not like fugitives run around waving their wands.  Have you ever tried _Confringo?_ ”   
          “No, sir,” replied Roland honestly.   
          “It works like this—” Daniel aimed his wand at the armored suit, twisted his wrist while flicking the wand and shouted, _“Confringo!_ ”  The suit of armor exploded into pieces that clattered on the ground.  “Works better with actual people,” said Daniel calmly, “but no one likes getting hit by it.  Doesn’t hurt,” he added, “just makes your body go all haywire and can be very embarrassing.  The two stood together watching the suit magically draw itself together again piece by piece.  “Muggle Security was called to a sight of a double homicide this morning,” Daniel whispered.  “No word on their identities.”    
          Roland acknowledged with just the barest tip of his head and then said, “I can see that might be useful,” referring to the _Confringo_ spell.  
          “Point your wand like so,” Daniel added while aiming his wand at the suit, “and give it a twist with your wrist…” Daniel illustrated with his own wrist and then shouted _“Confringo!_ ”  Again the suit clattered to the ground in pieces.  “You ready to try?”  Daniel asked as the pieces flew back together then lowering his voice swiftly said, “You remember the bag?”   
          “Yes, sir,” said Roland loudly while raising his wand.  “No, sir, I forgot,” he whispered in response to the second question. _“Confringo!_ ” shouted Roland but his words had no effect on the suit. “But it’s been taken care of,” he added.  
          Daniel raised an eyebrow in query as he lifted Roland’s wrist to show him the proper twist. “More twist, less elbow,” instructed Daniel.  “Try again.”  Then he whispered, “How?”  
_“Confringo!_ ” shouted Roland giving more twist to his wand motion.  This time the suit exploded apart. “Not exactly sure, sir,” replied Roland quickly before the noise of the pieces of suit landing on the ground had died away. “But he said he took care of it and I believe him.”  
          “He???” whispered Daniel urgently.  _What he???_   Louder, he added, “Good job—but let’s see if you can repeat that.”  
          “Yes, sir,” replied Roland carefully aiming his wand again. _“Confringo!_ ” he shouted.  The suit exploded a second time and Roland quickly whispered, “He said it was the best sandwich he’d had in decades!”  
_Decades!  Who the heck???_ But that could be discussed later.  “Very nice,” said Daniel in a normal voice commenting on Roland’s spell.  “You’ll need to practice it more, of course, so you can get it right every time but I think you’ve had enough for today.”  He placed his arm on Roland’s shoulder and walked him off the practice area.  “Have you finished memorizing the Security code?”   
          “Not quite, sir,” admitted Roland putting his wand away.  
          “Well, I’ll be testing you on the last four chapters tonight so be ready.”  They reached the exit and as Daniel pulled open the door he lowered his head to Roland’s ear.  “Anyone asks,” Daniel whispered, “You were here practicing in the morning and at home studying the rest of the day.”  
          “Yes, sir.”  
          “Come by after dinner for your test,” instructed Daniel in his normal voice sending Roland on his way.  Then he hissed in Roland’s ear, “…and be prepared to give a _full_ report!”  
          “Yes, sir. _Thank-you_ , sir,” Roland added looking back before he Apparated.  
          Daniel watched as Roland vanished with a loud _“crack,”_ then he closed the door to the club and returned to his seat.  Daniel took a sip of his soda stirring it with his straw thoughtfully as he considered the scraps of information Roland had managed to relate.  What had gone on at Grimmauld Place this morning?   What about the girl?  The dog?  The motorbike?  Who had “taken care” of the bag?  Whoever it was couldn’t be Slytherin or Roland wouldn’t have trusted him.  Daniel’s sandwiches weren’t all that great.  That implied someone who hadn’t eaten well in a while—a long while.  “Decades!”  Roland had said.  A prisoner perhaps?  If so, who?  Why?  How had he escaped?  What might someone like that need for “help” should their paths happen to cross?  Daniel closed his eyes and started to make a list…

 


	22. Chapter 22

          Holly stared in panic at the tall figure of Lord Voldemort standing in the entryway.  She’d seen pictures of him, of course, but they were nothing compared to the actual person.  Even had she not known his identity, Holly would have been afraid.  Lord Voldemort’s very presence seemed to emanate a sense of evil and foreboding that dominated the room and made Holly’s skin crawl.  His white skeletal like body and bald head stood out starkly against his black robe.  Lord Voldemort’s snakelike face had a flat nose with slit-like nostrils, a thin red line for lips and gleaming red eyes.  Emotionally, the Dark Lord—Holly could see why Headmaster Snape referred to him that way, radiated intense suspicion as his pale long bony fingers grasped a black wand that pointed menacingly at both Holly and the Headmaster.  Beneath the suspicion was a sense of confidence and superiority equal to none she had ever felt before.  
          The short man standing next to Lord Voldemort wore gray robes.  He was stout with thin colourless hair and a bald patch on top.   The man had a pointed nose and small watery eyes.  His right hand wore a seamless slivery glove that somehow seemed cold and sinister as it gleamed in the light.  The short man smiled at the two of them—his yellow pointy teeth showed in an unpleasant grin.  His cheerfully cold emotions filled with happy anticipation seemed vaguely familiar.  Holly realized he must be the person who had brought her to the Headmaster’s office, the caretaker Dumbledore had mentioned.   
          “You’re early,” said Headmaster Snape.  His calm voice hid the surprise Holly knew he felt at Lord Voldemort’s arrival.  In the corner of her eyes Holly saw the Headmaster bend in a courteous bow.  “My Lord,” he added respectfully.  
          “You were expecting me?” asked Lord Voldemort in a high cold voice.  His suspicion now tinged with surprise.  
          “Of course,” replied the Headmaster smoothly.  “I am Headmaster,” he stated proudly.  “It is my _duty_ to keep informed.  Did he imply otherwise?” Headmaster Snape added glancing at the second man, the caretaker.   
          The caretaker now shifted uncomfortably under the sharp scrutiny of both the Headmaster and Lord Voldemort.  “But my Lord,” he began in a whiney wheezy voice, “I swear…”   Holly did not need to be an Empath to recognize Lord Voldemort did not believe his protestations.   
          “I take it your search did not uncover anything?” the Headmaster asked the short man.   
          “I, uh,” the man began looking down guiltily.  
          “You _did_ make the search as instructed?” Headmaster Snape’s eyes narrowed dangerously with his question.  “I do not make frivolous orders!” he informed the man coldly.  “If Hogwarts is invaded by one trespasser, there can be more!  A single trespasser could be a diversion for a much larger attack.  And to make matters worse, you have endangered our Lord by inviting him to an unsecured premise!  Go now and complete both a perimeter and a grounds search to make sure Hogwarts is safe!  Take the dementors with you.  We’ll discuss your … lapse … in duties later, after you finish!”   
          The man looked from the Headmaster to Lord Voldemort.  Seeing no sympathy from either his happy anticipation was replaced by guilt, regret, fear and loathing.  The man bowed briefly mumbling “Yes, sir,” and backed up to the stairs which immediately started swirling down.   
          “I apologize, my lord,” said the Headmaster to Lord Voldemort as soon as the caretaker had vanished from view.  “It appears Pettigrew’s … enthusiasm … to see you has caused him to forget his responsibilities.”  
          “So I see,” replied Lord Voldemort coldly.  “But surely you do not expect something that the two of us could not manage…”  
          “Of course not,” replied Headmaster Snape confidently.  “But one must always remain vigilant to the possibilities…”  
          “Indeed,” said Lord Voldemort speculatively.  “I take it you had things to say that you did not want Pettigrew to overhear…”   
          “Pettigrew is a rat with the discretion of a magpie!” replied the Headmaster disdainfully.  “I would not trust him with a conversation of the weather let alone something of importance.”   
          “And this is of importance?” inquired Lord Voldemort, his gaze turning appraisingly to Holly.  His pitiless red eyes seemed to bore straight through her paralyzing Holly with fear.  
          “Have you no respect!” demanded Headmaster Snape suddenly.  “Bow!” he commanded.  And Holly felt a weight on her knees forcing them crumple down to the floor taking her body with them.  A second weight pressed down on the back of Holly’s head forcing it down.  Holly did not resist, glad to be able to look away from those awful red eyes.   
          Satisfied with Holly’s show of respect, the Headmaster returned his attention to Lord Voldemort.  “Let’s say this is a situation that you would do best to first investigate … privately,” replied the Headmaster enigmatically to Lord Voldemort’s question.  Unable to see anything but the floor, Holly strained her empathic senses to the fullest while she listened.  
          “Indeed,” murmured Lord Voldemort.  “You mean there is something besides her looks?”  
          And as he spoke, Holly felt as if those red eyes were boring straight through her!  _“Fill your mind with thoughts of someone you love…,”_ she thought frantically remembering what Cousin Harry had once told her sensing more than Lord Voldemort’s red eyes were piercing into her.  All Holly could think of was Headmaster Snape who had decided to help her, _her_ , not Lily, even knowing he would die!  Tears dripped down her face again.  
          Dimly she heard the calm voice of the Headmaster respond, “Most certainly.”  
          The piercing sensation stopped and Holly felt Lord Voldemort’s suspicion change to interest.  “Tell me more,” he ordered.  
          “She says her name is Holly Wycliff,” began Headmaster Snape.  
          “Go on.”  
          “In addition, I can detect no sign of enchantment or bewitchment about her.”  
          “So?  Obviously, she’s lying.”  
          “You would think so,” agreed the Headmaster.  “But here is the interesting part:  as far as I can tell, the girl actually _believes_ her name is Holly Wycliff!”  
          “She does?”  
          “Yes,” continued the Headmaster. “You and I both know there are no witches with the surname of Wycliff but unfortunately, because _she_ believes it, the use of verisitum or some other means of … persuasion will only bring about the … same answer.”  
          “Look at me!” commanded a high cold voice.  
          Holly felt the pressure on her head and neck ease and she raised her head and looked into the eyes of Lord Voldemort.  They were blood red and glowed eerily as they looked back at her.  
          “Do you know who I am?”  
          “Y-yes, sir,” replied Holly unable to blink.  
          “Are you afraid?”  
          “Terrified,” answered Holly honestly.   
          Lord Voldemort nodded in satisfaction at her words.  “What do you think will happen if you _lie_ to me?”  
          Holly thought quickly.  _Die?_   But maybe not immediately… “I, ah, don’t know,” she finally answered.  
          “Very good,” said Lord Voldemort in approval, his thin lips curved in a smile.  “Now, tell me, what is your name?”  
          “H-Holly Wycliff,” answered Holly fearfully knowing she could give no other answer.  She longed to look down again but couldn’t—couldn’t break hold from that piercing red gaze.  
          “Interesting,” murmured Lord Voldemort thoughtfully.  “But it’s just a name…”  
          “True,” agreed Headmaster Snape, “but she has answered all her questions with similar truthfulness.  And while I appreciate the honesty, some of her answers are very perplexing in light of that honesty…”  
          “For example?”  
          “I believe this is the girl Bellatrix seeks,” said the Headmaster bluntly.   
          Holly felt a quickening of breath and increased interest from Lord Voldemort. “Have you told her?”  
          “Unfortunately, she was still out when I last checked,” replied Headmaster Snape calmly.  “Presumably questioning Sirius.”  
          Lord Voldemort’s attention returned to Holly.  “Were you at Sirius Black’s house?” he asked directly his eyes again going right through her.   
          “Yes, sir,” replied Holly.  
          “Who told you to go there?” asked the Headmaster sharply.  
          Holly swung her head to face him.  She looked directly into his black eyes.  “No one!” she answered firmly.  
          “Impossible!” hissed Lord Voldemort.  
          “How did you get in?” demanded the Headmaster quickly.  Holly gulped.  What should she say?   “Go on,” he ordered ruthlessly.  “Tell him what you told me earlier.”  Holly swallowed nervously trying to remember what she had said before.  The Headmaster’s black eyes were cold and pitiless but Holly sensed warmth and encouragement as well.   
          “I knocked,” she replied softly, “and he answered.”  
          “Fascinating!” said Lord Voldemort.  His earlier suspicion was entirely replaced by interest.  
          “I know,” agreed the Headmaster.  “And I have been trying to determine _who_ put her up to this ever since!”  
          “Who?”  
          “Of course,” replied Headmaster Snape smoothly.  “Either this _wandless_ child, on her own, has managed to breach two of the most secure locations in Great Britain within the space of a couple hours, or someone else, much smarter, has helped the girl to do it while making her _think_ she thought of it herself…  Which option do you think is more likely?”  
          “Neither,” admitted Lord Voldemort grudgingly.  “But if it is the latter, who?”  
          “You would know that better than I, my Lord,” replied the Headmaster calmly.  “While many know the location and have legitimate access to Hogwarts, only a select few know the location of Sirius Black’s mansion, the identities of which are known only to … you.”  Holly felt a surge of surprise from the Dark Lord.  “Who of them would do something like this?” asked the Headmaster calmly.  “And why?”  
          The Dark Lord’s emotion abruptly turned to suspicion.  _“You_ know the location,” he accused suddenly and Holly could feel his whole body tense up as if preparing to cast a spell.  
          The Headmaster looked surprised at the suggestion.  “I?” he inquired sounding but not feeling surprised.  He looked thoughtful for a moment.  “You mean that time at the bar when Pettigrew told me this sordid story of Sirius’ imprisonment between mugs of butterbeer and then hands me a scrawl written on a dirty napkin?  That was for real?  Done at _your_ request?”  Lord Voldemort said nothing but his body remained tense and his suspicion stayed strong.  “I would never take Pettigrew’s word for anything,” continued the Headmaster disdainfully.  “If you wanted me to know Sirius’ location why didn’t you tell me yourself?  Though if what Pettigrew said was the truth,” the Headmaster added thoughtfully,  “I doubt I would visit him; that kind of treatment is … not to my liking.  Besides, what did you expect me to do with the knowledge if I believed it?” he demanded.  “Rescue him?  Didn’t Pettigrew tell you I have no love for Sirius Black?  Why would I risk anything for him?”  
          “It was a test,” said Lord Voldemort sharply, “to satisfy those who still thought you and Black might be more than classmates.  A test,” he added, “which you passed with flying colours, until now…”  
          “Now?”  
          “Now—” Lord Voldemort said triumphantly, “when I find you and the girl _standing_ next to you…”  
          “Did you think I sought to free her?” asked the Headmaster.  
          “Didn’t you?” he said accusingly his body still tense.  
          “Of course not!” denied the Headmaster confidently, though Holly knew his emotions said otherwise.  “There is no place she can run while at Hogwarts!  Why bother with bindings?”  
          “And why is she free?” asked Lord Voldemort suspiciously.  
          “I was about to do some additional ... research before making my report to you…”  
          “Research?”  
          “Yes, she was about to give me a tour of Hogwarts.”  
          “Hogwarts?”  Lord Voldemort’s body relaxed a fraction and his suspicion mingled with curiosity.  
          “Of course,” replied the Headmaster.  “Miss Wycliff also claims to be a Hogwarts student.  And while I know next to nothing about the affairs at the Black mansion, I _do_ know Hogwarts and the students attending here.  Despite what she thinks, Miss Wycliff is _not_ one of them.  It occurred to me that the girl might make mistakes when confronted with reality.”  
          “Mistakes?”   
          “Yes.  You and I both know no amount of description, not even someone else’s memories could adequately cover Hogwarts.  Miss Wycliff is bound to get some details wrong—and those mistakes might provide clues as to the identity of the person or persons behind this.”  
           “An interesting theory.”  Suddenly Holly felt a pressure on her head twisting it and she again found herself looking into the relentless red eyes of Lord Voldemort.  “Are you a Hogwarts’ student?”   
          The question was so simple, the tone seductive and soft, almost a caress, that Holly answered without thinking.  “Yes.”  Almost before the word was finished, Holly realized she had made a terrible mistake.  For she wasn’t a Hogwarts student, not any more—and they would surely know!  Immediately, Holly’s senses detected a tenseness and rapid but familiar build-up of energy.  Instinctively she swayed to one side as she had done numerous times during dueling practice and the forceful heat of a spell seared her cheek as it passed by exploding with a loud bang on the wall behind her!  Books and glass instruments shook from their place on the shelf and fell.  The books landed with a loud thud while instruments shattered when they hit the floor.   
          Holly closed her eyes and gave a low moan of terror.  For not only had she lied, but she had made another mistake in dodging that spell—she had revealed she was an Empath!  Both Lord Voldemort and Headmaster Snape had seen that dodge and recognized it for what it was.  Holly knew they knew not by feeling any emotion of surprise, but from the sudden absence of emotions around her and Holly felt blind as a bat without them!  
          “You’re slipping,” observed Lord Voldemort quietly after a long moment of silence.  His voice was calm, almost friendly.  Fearfully, Holly opened her eyes and saw a cruel calculating look on Lord Voldemort’s face.  “It seems Pettigrew was right when he thought her looks would cloud your … judgment.  A school child could have caught that lie.”  
          Holly turned her head to look at Headmaster Snape.  His face showed surprise, hurt and uncertainty.  “My, Lord,” he said faintly.  “I’m sure…”  The Headmaster suddenly stiffened, “Explain,” he demanded.  
          Holly took a deep breath.  “I’ve been going to Hogwarts, I swear,” she began while staring directly at Headmaster Snape willing him to believe her.  “But dad, he doesn’t like Hogwarts.  He never has.  So next year he is putting me into some other school.”  Holly gulped.  “I don’t know where I’ll be going next year,” she added softly, “but it won’t be Hogwarts—so, I guess I’m not a Hogwarts student—not any more…” Fresh tears streamed down Holly’s eyes.  She would miss going to Hogwarts if she ever got home.  
          “Hogwarts is required of all witches,” mused Lord Voldemort softly.  
          “So it is,” agreed Headmaster Snape quietly.  As he spoke, his features relaxed just a fraction and Holly heard a note of calm confidence return to his voice.  Inwardly, she gave a sigh of relief.  The Headmaster knew Holly’s grandmother and must have realized the truth behind her words.  Holly didn’t care what Lord Voldemort thought, but it was important to her that Headmaster Snape believe she hadn’t been lying.  “Imagine a parent thinking he had the _right_ to take his child out of Hogwarts,” the Headmaster added sounding indignant.  “Yet she tells her tale so convincingly.  Don’t you agree?”   
          “Hmmm,” came the response.  “I think your idea of touring Hogwarts has some merit, Severus,” replied Lord Voldemort finally.  “Take us to the Great Hall, Miss Wycliff.”  
          “Yes, sir,” said Holly.  The weight on her knees lifted and Holly slowly stood.  Her legs felt stiff and her knees hurt from kneeling so long.  Both Lord Voldemort and Headmaster Snape stepped back permitting Holly to lead the way.  She walked unsteadily out the door and onto the circular steps.  Behind her came the Headmaster and Lord Voldemort.

********************

          The three moved silently downward.  Holly knew the Headmaster was behind her because she could just barely feel his emotions, whispery silent and difficult to read—much as Holly remembered from their first meeting two years earlier.  Holly had thought the stronger emotions she had been feeling this time were due to a faulty memory or her own age and increased abilities, but now she realized the Headmaster must have been blocking before.  Of the Dark Lord, Holly could feel nothing!  
          “Did you know?” the Dark Lord asked conversationally when they reached the bottom of the stairs.  
_“Know what?”_ thought Holly frantically afraid to respond.  
          “No,” replied the Headmaster calmly as the door swung open revealing the griffin and a long hallway.  When he spoke, Holly realized the question had not been meant for her.  She began down the hallway while listening carefully to the conversation behind her looking for clues for—anything to help her know what to do!  “But in all fairness,” added the Headmaster, “the subject never came up.”  
          “No,” agreed Lord Voldemort.  “It wouldn’t.”  They all continued walking down the hall.  “Where’s your cat?” asked the Dark Lord abruptly.  
          “I don’t know,” replied Holly.  That question was obviously meant for her.  “She vanished,” Holly added mournfully suddenly longing for Sasha’s warmth and comforting purr.  
          “You seem to do fairly well without her,” commented Lord Voldemort.   
          Holly didn’t know what to say to that so she just continued walking forward rounding a corner.  Seeing another corner ahead Holly considered the chances running for it, pulling the invisible cloak over her head and hiding as she had done from Wizard Flint.  Could she make it in time?  
          “Can you block?” inquired Lord Voldemort sharply in her ear.   
          Holly jumped at the sound; he had been closer behind her than she thought.  She didn’t dare run—not yet.  She wouldn’t be able to get far enough ahead to hide afterwards.  
          “Well?” insisted the Dark Lord demanding a response to his question.  Holly hesitated.  Instinct told her to deny it—to reveal as little as possible—but did she dare?  
          “I warn you,” came the high cold voice of Lord Voldemort, “that if you attempt to lie again, I might not be so forgiving…”  
          “Y-yes, sir.  I can block,” Holly admitted reluctantly as they walked, “but I don’t know how well…”  
          “That’s all right,” purred the Dark Lord. “I’m sure we can arrange all sorts of tests to determine the extent of your abilities...”  Holly cringed inwardly at his words remembering all the horrible ways her friends had told her a Dark Wizard might wish to use an Empath.  She wanted nothing to do with Lord Voldemort or his tests.  They reached the moving stairs.  Holly put her foot on the first step and placed her hand on the banister clinging to it for support.  Then she started walking down.  
          “I confess I am at a loss as to the motive behind creating such a … fantasy,” said the Headmaster from behind her.  “Especially given the nature of the … prize that seems to have fallen into your lap.”  The calmness of his voice steadied Holly as they moved.  Perhaps he had a plan of some sort.  “After all,” the Headmaster continued, “if she were intended as a mere diversion, surely something else would have happened by now.  But what other purpose could there be?”  
          “Indeed,” mused the Dark Lord.  “I haven’t ruled you out as the cause of all this,” he commented darkly.  They continued walking in silence, their feet making steady measured soft thuds that echoed in the stairwell.  
          “I’m flattered you think I have this kind of ability,” replied the Headmaster after a while.  “But if I wanted you to come to Hogwarts, I could have merely asked.  Why go to all the trouble to create this, girl, send her to the Black mansion and then back here to draw you out?”  
          “True,” agreed Lord Voldemort grudgingly.  
          “You know,” mused Headmaster Snape changing the subject as they started down the sixth flight of stairs. “This one seems much more cooperative than the last one.  Despite her questionable origins, perhaps, with careful supervision and management, she might make a useful addition to your … resources.”  
          “Are you volunteering to watch her, Severus?  She seems to trust you.”  
          “Me?” replied the Headmaster and Holly felt his sudden surge of hope.  “I’m too old to be raising a child, too busy with my duties as Headmaster.  Though I would certainly attempt it if that were your wish.  What you see is merely the result of using a “carrot” instead of a “stick.”  It’s a technique I have found useful in my duties as headmaster.  Given the difficulties encountered last time, perhaps her guardianship should be entrusted to someone … experienced with children,” he added calmly.  “She’s rather young and children can be a trying lot.  We wouldn’t want her accidentally injured or impaired…”  
          “Who would you recommend?” inquired the Dark Lord as they reached the fifth floor.   
          “I don’t know,” mused the Headmaster.  “It would have to be someone loyal, someone you trust,” began the Headmaster thoughtfully.  “Certainly not Bellatrix.  I don’t think she likes children much or she would have raised some of her own.  Besides, as the Minister’s wife, she is too much in the public eye for a task such as this.  I presume you would want the girl’s presence kept quiet…”  They continued their descent a few steps more in silence.  “The Malfoys have raised a family,” added the Headmaster speculatively.  “They’ve always been loyal.  But Lucius and Narcissa are also too much in the public eye.  Draco Malfoy?  His son Scorpius looks to be a similar age…  That could be an asset.”  
          Holly gave an inward shudder at the thought of having to live with Scorpius!  
          “Draco is ambitious,” commented Lord Voldemort flatly.  
          “Ah, ambition,” replied the Headmaster understandingly.  Holly reached the fourth floor and continued her descent.  “But that is the nature of a Slytherin.  Perhaps,” added the Headmaster hesitantly, “forgive me, my lord, for making the suggestion as it seems a bit unorthodox…”  
          “What?”  
          “Well, the girl is no Slytherin.  Perhaps you should consider placing her with a trusted Non family to raise…”  
          “Nons can’t be trusted.”  
          “No, of course not, not in the way a Slytherin can,” agreed the Headmaster, “but some of them are very responsible and that might do instead.  I find that as a group, the Nons seem to value life above bravery and can be trained to unquestioning obedience.  Both qualities would most useful for the tool you would wish her to become, don’t you agree?”  
          “True…” said the Dark Lord thoughtfully.   
          “The Nons could be made responsible for her daily life and education while you could train her as you see fit at your leisure.”  
          “And what Non would you recommend?”  
          “Someone with a family, of course,” mused Headmaster Snape, “and an impeccable record; perhaps a Non working for Security as Security Nons have already demonstrated a willingness to work within the existing order and have undergone intense scrutiny.”  
          “Inducements?”  
          “There is no need.  The Nons will take any child into their family if so ordered.”   
          “And should something happen, what then?”  
          “I should think” began the Headmaster, “that the certain knowledge the whole family will die slowly, one by one, should something “happen” to the girl would be sufficient motivation to guard against failure.   It might even motivate the girl into continued cooperation.  I could make inquiries into suitable families if you wish.”  
          “An interesting idea,” mused the Dark Lord.   
          They reached the third floor.  Holly hesitated briefly.  She considered making a run for the trophy room, but quickly realized there was no way to get there before being caught.  Reluctantly, she continued on down.  For the moment, she was still free, sort of, though she had no idea what good that did her.   
          “It occurs to me,” said Headmaster Snape when they had descended a few more steps, “that asking her to take us to the Great Hall is a bit too simple.  After all, the girl passed it on the way to my office.  It would be an easy matter to retrace her steps and thus would prove nothing…”  
          “What are you thinking?”  
          “I’m not sure,” came the reply.  “We could always send her to a dorm, but they are fairly well known as are the locations of all the classrooms…  A second year student does not use the more specialized, less known, classrooms so she should not know their whereabouts, and the grounds are not yet secured.  That leaves the library, the trophy room, the kitchen, the infirmary and numerous unnamed small rooms, closets and passageways about which she may or may not know.”  
          “True,” agreed the Dark Lord.   
          “I’m thinking you would not want observers to our investigation,” continued the Headmaster thoughtfully.  “The kitchen has the house elves, Madam Pomfrey is in the infirmary and Madam Pince is in the library.  
          “Which leaves the trophy room,” finished Lord Voldemort.  “I thought it was out of bounds?”  
          “It is, as per your instructions,” agreed the Headmaster.  “Which means, of course, every student should know its location if only to keep away…”  
          “Very well.  Take us to the trophy room, Miss Wycliff,” ordered Lord Voldemort.  
          Holly’s heart gave a lurch of excitement.  She halted and turned around while trying to keep any trace of eagerness out of her expression.  Then she took a step back up the stairs and stopped, her way blocked by the two men.  Lord Voldemort seemed to tower forbiddingly over her on the steps above.  Almost as tall was the Headmaster who stood one step lower.  His face was expressionless and he said nothing but his black eyes watched her closely.  Holly wasn’t sure what to do next.  Should she ask them to move or would someone step aside to let her go by?  
          “Continue,” ordered the Headmaster in an icy voice stepping to one side to let her pass.  Holly took another step moving between them.  Then she skipped a step as she angled her body to the other side of the banister as far away from the Dark Lord as possible while she passed him.  
          “Did you see that?” came the Headmaster’s voice with interest.   
          Holly froze in place.  “See what?” she wondered.  
          “She skipped a step,” the Headmaster added.  
          Holly looked down at the stairs and her feet curiously.  
          “So?” came that soft cold voice.  
          “Two steps and a skip,” said the Headmaster explaining.  "That guarantees the stairs won’t move for a full minute—enough time to retrace her steps and reach the third floor.   If Miss Wycliff hurries, she can make the third floor before the stairs start to move anyway.  But by taking two steps and skipping a step, she won’t have to rush.  Who takes the time to teach her those kinds of details?  And why?”  
          “Who indeed?” responded Lord Voldemort.  “Who taught you that?”  
          "The Prefect did,” Holly answered vaguely not daring to mention names. “Shall I continue?” she asked looking at Headmaster Snape desperately trying to change the subject. What if Prefect Gwen wasn't alive in this world?  
          The Headmaster glanced at Lord Voldemort who inclined his head slightly.  “Please,” Headmaster Snape instructed.  Holly continued up the steps and turned off the third floor landing.  The hall carpet muffled the sound of her steps and then that of those behind her.  She headed down the corridor towards the trophy room.  Holly could still feel the presence of Headmaster Snape and had no doubt Lord Voldemort followed as well.   
          “I think you’ll find a visit to the trophy room most … informative, my lord,” said Headmaster Snape conversationally while they walked.  
          “Oh?” responded Lord Voldemort with interest in his voice.  His voice sounded right next to the location of the Headmaster’s emotions; they must be walking side by side or close to it.  They were both about two meters in distance from her.  
          With her mind, Holly kept track of their locations behind her.  The sound of the voices helped her guage distance but Holly scarcely listened to their conversation.  She was certain the Headmaster spoke only as a diversion—to keep the Dark Lord from suspecting the real reason they were going to the trophy room.  Holly concentrated on moving forward as swiftly as possible without appearing to hurry.  The Headmaster had created an excuse to get her to the trophy room and Holly wanted to get there as quickly as possible.  
          “Yes,” continued the Headmaster blandly.  “Some of the students have written their names on one of the walls, in invisible ink, of course.  No doubt you’ll recognize many of the names scrawled there.”  The distance between the Headmaster and Holly remained the same; he was keeping pace with her easily.  
          “And this was done with your approval?”  Lord Voldemort’s voice remained even with the Headmaster.  
          “Not officially,” replied the Headmaster as they walked.  “The room is off limits, you know.  But that doesn’t stop the more rebellious students from sneaking in to see why and then leaving their mark as proof of their accomplishment.”  Holly turned a corner becoming momentarily out of sight from the Headmaster and Lord Voldemort.  She again considered running, but there was a long straight corridor ahead—too long.  She’d never reach its end in time.  Besides, there was no need to run at the moment—they were headed in the right direction and the closer Holly got to the trophy room the better.  
          “And you don’t try to stop this?”   That high cold voice sounded loud and clear; he had turned the corner too.  
          “Of course I do,” responded the Headmaster calmly.  He had rounded the corner as well and still seemed to walk besides the Dark Lord.  “Slytherin students are posted on the third floor to prevent entry into the trophy room.  The experience sharpens their skills at observation.  Only the most determined Nons manage to slip past.”  
          “And unofficially?”  
          “Unofficially, I find the list most helpful in my duties as Headmaster.  It tells me which students are inclined to break the rules and should receive additional … supervision … while at Hogwarts.  
          “Don’t you know that already?”  
          “For the most part,” agreed Headmaster Snape, “but I check the wall periodically for new entries.  Some of the mousiest looking Nons have managed to put their names on the wall.”  
          “And do you punish those students who make it into the trophy room?”   
          Holly rounded the next corner; she could see the trophy room doorway in the center of the corridor!  The doors were open!  Only a few meters more and she could enter the room!  
          “Not for entering the trophy room,” replied the Headmaster keeping pace just behind Holly.  She sensed a flash of adrenaline rush indicating he, too, had seen the trophy room entry.  “Then they would know _I_ know about the wall,” Headmaster Snape added, his voice remaining deceptively calm.  “I let the Nons think they’re keeping this secret from me; it prevents them from finding some other, less obvious way, at rebellion.  Of course,” he added smoothly, “I’ve removed most of the non-Slytherin trophies from the room so those who visit see only that which confirms what they’re taught in class.”  
          “Indeed,” mused the Dark Lord thoughtfully.  “Who gave you the address to Sirius Black’s house?” Lord Voldemort asked Holly abruptly.  His high voice was sharp, cold and very near!  
          Holly jumped at the question.  She had been concentrating on getting into the trophy room.  Just a few steps more and she’d have been there!  She glanced back at Headmaster Snape questioningly.  “Tell him,” the headmaster instructed calmly.  “Perhaps he can make more sense of your answer than I.”  And Holly felt a sudden surge of sincerity!  It was so strong that she knew the headmaster wanted her to feel his emotions—his way of letting her know he _wanted_ her to talk.  
          “H-Harry Potter, sir,” she answered, her voice quavering as she spoke.  
          “Who?” asked Lord Voldemort surprise slipping through his own block.  
          “That’s what I said,” said the Headmaster.  “I never heard you inquire about his fate, so I assumed you had learned somehow that the Potter boy was indeed dead,” continued Headmaster Snape softly, “but I wonder … how reliable was your source?  Did you ever actually _see_ a body?”  
          “This Harry Potter,” began Lord Voldemort, “was he a boy—short with black hair?”  
          “No, sir,” replied Holly.  “It was a man, a tall man with black and gray hair, glasses and a zig-zaggy scar on his forehead.”  
          “Boy grown up?” speculated Headmaster Snape quietly.  “Of course, I suppose any person could put on a disguise, call himself Harry Potter and she would never know the difference, but why bother?”  
          “Look at me!” demanded Lord Voldemort.  And Holly felt her feet move like blocks of wood on their own accord turning her body towards Lord Voldemort.   
_“Think of someone you love,”_ thought Holly frantically sensing this would be no simple scrutiny.  She filled her mind with the image of Headmaster Snape she could see out of the corner of her eye standing by the Dark Lord.  Against her will Holly’s face lifted and she looked up into the glowing red eyes of Lord Voldemort.   
          The image of the Headmaster shattered as Holly suddenly saw other images—those from deep within her mind, memories!  Jessica calling Holly a liar and angrily telling Holly they weren’t friends any more; Vernon chasing the bigger kids away, the shame and embarrassment when the teacher her accused of cheating—knowing she was innocent and feeling certain guilt at the same time, the pain of tests and more tests while Physicians told mum there was nothing wrong with Holly all the while hurting even more, waking up in a strange bed to see a quiet bespeckled person calling himself Harry Potter, the pure joy at hugging dad at the station after the hospital _—“Daddy!”_ some part inside of her screamed as she saw his loving face, _“Help me!”_ and more images of dad flowed to the surface, birthday parties, trips, hugging him when he said she could return to Hogwarts...  
          “Master?”  The words—Pettigrew’s voice—interrupted the flickering images; Holly felt instant annoyance from Lord Voldemort and she seized the opportunity to fix her mind tighter still on her memories of dad—his warm hug, the way he worried, how much she loved and missed him.  Even as she did so, she felt anger build swiftly within Lord Voldemort peaking in a savage shout: _“Cruico!”_  
          Holly dropped to the ground screaming.  The attack was not aimed at her, but Holly hadn’t been blocking.  Holly’s agonized screams as she felt the white-hot needles of pain shoot through Pettigrew’s body drove the last vestiges of Lord Voldemort from her mind.  The attack was over almost as soon as it had begun, but it left Holly curled on the floor shaking with exhaustion.  
          “You interrupted me!” said the Dark Lord venomously.  
          “Yes, Master, s-sorry, Master,” gasped Pettigrew.  He was on the floor behind them feeling incredibly weak from his experience.  Still curled up, Holly used the opportunity to pull Lily’s wand from her belt case and transfer it to under her sweatshirt sleeve.  She felt a sudden surge of surprise coming from Headmaster Snape.  He must have noticed her doing it… “You were right to punish me, of course, thank you,” continued Pettigrew groveling.  “But an important message arrived for you…”  
          “Give it to me,” ordered Lord Voldemort with a sigh.  
          “It’s at the Owlry,” replied Pettigrew.  “The owl wouldn’t let me have it.  But it was marked “Urgent.”   
          “Have you checked the grounds?”  
          “Yes, my lord, everything is all clear and secure,” came the eager reply.  
          “Very well,” said Lord Voldemort with resignation.  “The trophy room shall have to wait.  Get up, Miss Wycliff,” he ordered.  “You cannot block as well as you would have us believe,” he added with disgust and Holly realized Lord Voldemort must have experienced some of what she was feeling when he had cast that Cruciatus Curse.  “And your range is,” he paused, no doubt judging the distance between Pettigrew and Holly.  “It merits more exploration,” the Dark Lord concluded speculatively.  “You and I have a lot to discuss while on the way to the Owlery; I presume you know the way?”  
          “Y-yes, sir,” said Holly in a shaky voice.  She kept her head down as she rose slowly to her knees hiding her tears of frustration that had come unbidden to her eyes—to have come so close to the trophy room…  Holly stood up unsteadily.  
          “What’s this?” asked the Dark Lord, a note of surprise in his voice.  
          Holly raised her head and saw Lord Voldemort’s eyes fixed on Headmaster Snape, whose wand was aimed directly at the Dark Lord!  
          “Miss Wycliff,” began Headmaster Snape in a steady voice.  “The trophy room is right behind you.   Would you be so good as to wait in there until our business is …  concluded?”  
          “No!” exclaimed Holly softly recognizing what the Headmaster was about to do to get her into the trophy room.  
          “You have value to my lord,” continued the Headmaster ignoring Holly’s reaction, “and I am sure he would not want you … accidentally injured by any stray spells that are cast…”  
          “Do you have any idea what you are doing?” said Lord Voldemort in disbelief.  His own wand was raised in defense pointed at the Headmaster menacingly.  
          “Something I should have done years ago,” replied Headmaster Snape calmly.  _“Please!”_ he added to Holly with a hint of desperation noting she had not yet moved.  “This is _my_ choice, not yours, and I would have you remember me as I am!”  His emotions flowed over Holly like a waterfall, letting her feel the sincerity of his words.   
          Holly reluctantly began to back up the final steps towards the trophy room entrance.  Her eyes remained glued to the image of Headmaster Snape, the flowing emerald green robe draped over his tall shoulders, his wand aimed resolutely at the Dark Lord, his calm face and piercing black eyes determinedly watching Lord Voldemort.  “There are no other fishes in the water,” explained the Headmaster cryptically to Lord Voldemort.  “Seeing the girl has made me realize that.”  Then he added, “I tire of looking.”  
          “You are a fool!” said the Dark Lord disgustedly.  He was watching the Headmaster like a hawk and glanced at Holly suspiciously while she moved but let her continue to step slowly back towards the trophy room entrance.  
          “Yes,” agreed the Headmaster calmly as Holly placed her foot in the doorway.  “A tired… old … fool.”

**_“Expelliarmus!”_ **

          It was Holly who cast the first spell!  She hadn’t meant to, but couldn’t help it.  Holly had felt that familiar build up before a spell about to explode and had cast her own spell to prevent it.  Holly didn’t cast her spell at the Dark Lord but at the Caretaker, Pettigrew, whose silver hand clutched his wand tightly and aimed it unerringly in the direction of the Headmaster intending to strike him unawares from behind.   
          Pettigrew’s wand flew into the air and clattered off the ceiling.  But Holly saw and heard none of that.  Ignoring the sudden surprise she felt from both Lord Voldemort and Pettigrew, Holly had immediately ducked into the trophy room crouching down as she did.  A spell blasted swiftly through the trophy room entrance striking the wall just above Holly’s head.  It caused the whole room to shake showering her with rubble.  Huge chunks of wall flew about like missiles. Trophies toppled and trophy case crystal shattered loudly.  Holly could hear the sounds of other spells blasting outside.   
          Sobbing, Holly ignored the noise and hurried to the wall determined to not waste the opportunity Headmaster Snape had given her.  The knowledge that she had a wand would surely change the Dark Lord’s assessment and treatment of her.  He would not be far behind.   
          Holly had only been in the trophy room that one time two years ago but she could never forget the wall the Headmaster had taken her to.  There it was:  a dirty small heart just at eye level.  Even dirty, the names of Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley and Tom Riddle were somehow easy to read.  “Funny, it seemed higher before,” Holly noted absently as she reached her finger out to touch—  
          “Wait!” she thought suddenly freezing her finger just millimeters from the plaque.  Something was wrong!  The plaque didn’t call out to her as it had before.  Holly hadn’t originally touched the plaque out of curiosity; it had just happened!  She had been compelled to!  “No!” Holly shouted aloud in panic and frustration.  The plaque wasn’t working!  All this for nothing!   
          Holly squeezed her eyes shut franticly trying to remember that first time.  Had the Headmaster done anything else before she saw it?  “Oh yes,” she thought eagerly as another blast made the room rattle causing more debris and trophies fall.  “He cleaned it!”  Holly hastily shoved her wand into her waistband and tugged on her sweatshirt sleeve until it covered her hand.  Using the sleeve as a rag, she wiped the plaque off.  Suddenly, the plaque seemed to shine in the light and Holly saw her green eyes glow weirdly in its mirror-like surface.  She no longer felt the walls shake or heard the sounds of voices and spells blasting behind her.  All she could think of was her green eyes reflecting back at her…  Without conscious thought, Holly slowly stretched out a finger and touched the plaque…


	23. Chapter 23

         Darkness greeted Holly when she came out of her trance.  Confused, and disoriented, she stood still trying to figure out who and where she was…  Suddenly her memories flooded back—Headmaster Snape, Voldemort, Sirius, Mrs. Figg, the tree, the plaque…  _“I made it!”_ she thought with amazement!  Then— _“Vernon!”_   Holly anxiously cast her thoughts about searching for the familiar emotions of her brother Vernon.  She found nothing.   
          “No!” she moaned.  “I’m too late!  He’s dead!”  Holly sank down to her knees consumed with despair.  “I’m sorry!” she sobbed aloud.  “So sorry!  I tried!  I really did!”  None of it seemed worth it if she couldn’t bring Vernon back safely.  
          “Wha?  Huh?  Is somebody there?”  The voice, rough and scratchy sounded familiar and with it Holly suddenly felt a flood of recognizable emotions!  
          “Vernon!  You’re alive!” cried out Holly in relief realizing Vernon must have been asleep when she arrived.  
          “Well, yeah,” came the response in a scratchy voice.  Vernon was weak, disoriented and thirsty, but definitely alive.  “Holly?  Is that you?”  
          “Yes, it’s me,” said Holly with a smile while wiping off her tears.  
          “What are you doing here?”  
          “I’m here to rescue you,” replied Holly.  
          “Oh.”  Then, “What took you so long?”   
          Holly laughed and wiped off some more tears, “I ran into a few … difficulties …” she replied.  Holly checked her wand and stood up with determination.   She had a curse to break.

********************

          Holly’s voice sounded extraordinarily loud to Vernon Wycliff’s ear but he figured it was because it had been ages since he had last heard anything.  The intense silence had been oppressing.  Vernon had tried talking nonstop to combat it but had given that up when his voice gave way and it hurt too much to talk.  
          “Did you bring any water?” the question, in a stronger voice, came almost without thought.  Vernon felt so horribly thirsty.  
          “No, Vernon, sorry,” came the regretful reply.  “I should have, but there was no chance.”  
          _“Oh, well,”_ Vernon thought with resignation.  It was worth a try.  “Where are we?” he asked next.  Not that he cared any more.  He just wanted to keep Holly talking—it was reassuring to hear her voice, to think he was no longer alone in this room.  
          “Uh, I don’t really know,” replied Holly in a thoughtful voice.  “We’re sort of between things.”  
          “Oh.”  That didn’t explain much of anything not that it mattered.  But Holly had stopped talking so Vernon tried another question.  “How did you get here?”  Talking seemed to improve the sound of his voice.  And it didn’t hurt nearly as much to talk as before.  
          There was a pause in which Vernon heard the shuffle of Holly’s feet moving nearer before she answered.  “I expect pretty much the same way you did,” she said finally sounding much closer than before, “I touched a plaque.  Remember that thing you found in the tree, the one with Cousin Harry’s name on it,” she began.  “You touched it, remember?”  Vernon struggled to remember.  That moment seemed so very long ago.  “Well that’s what brought you here.  And I’m so sorry,” Holly added in a rush. “This is all my fault; I should have told you about that—should have warned you, then you would have known to keep away!”  
          Vernon barely remembered that bit of silver in the tree and didn’t see how touching it had brought him here, but didn’t argue.  Holly seemed so sincere, so full of remorse.  “That’s O.K.,” he said letting her off the hook.  After all, she _was_ rescuing him.  “I was bored,” he added, “I probably would have touched it anyway.”  That was true enough, Vernon didn’t know why he touched it, but knew he couldn’t have stopped from touching it once he saw his reflection in its mirror-like surface.  
          “How do we get out?” asked Vernon.  Holly was close enough now he could hear her breathing.  But she had stopped for some reason.   
          “I’m working on it,” she replied.  Her voice indicated she was standing near his right side.  “Darn!” she muttered.  “It looks like I’m going to have to touch it to get it to start!”  
          “Touch what?”  
          “The chair,” Holly said as if that answered everything.  
          Vernon could hear more noises like scrapings on the ground.  “Careful,” he told her.  “This chair is crazy!” he added remembering those straps that clutched him like tentacles and dragged him into the chair binding him there before he even knew what was going on.  
          “I know,” said Holly calmly.  “Um, I think I’m going to have to make it go crazy to get things going again.  Sorry.”  
          “That’s O.K.”  Get what going again?  Vernon had no idea what Holly was talking about but he assumed whatever it was meant getting him out of there which was fine with him.  
          “You ready?” she asked.  
          “I guess…”  Vernon heard a soft tapping sound from behind him.  Nothing happened.  He heard it again, louder this time, like someone knocking on the back of the chair.  Still nothing happened.  
          “Drat!” muttered Holly.  
          “What’s supposed to happen?” asked Vernon curiously.  Suddenly he felt the chair shake sharply and immediately the chair swung rapidly around stopping with a lurch in the opposite direction.   Then Vernon heard the sounds of a struggle of some sort and guessed those tentacle-like straps had reached out to catch Holly.  The struggling sounds stopped.  Abruptly the chair swung around again and became quiet.  
          “That,” answered Holly dryly from somewhere behind Vernon.  
          “Oh.  What next?” he wondered aloud.  
          “Next, we wait,” she said as the lights came on.  The lights blinded Vernon; he was so used to the darkness.  Vernon squeezed his eyes shut and when he finally opened them again he could see Holly standing near, but off to one side.  She wore a dirty, dark sweatshirt he didn’t recognize.  
          “Hi,” said Holly with a smile.  “How are you doing?”  
          “I’ve been better,” replied Vernon with a weak smile.  It was good to be able to see again even if it was this horrible square room with its stone floor and walls.  
          “Well, it won’t be long now and then we’ll be able to get out of here,” said Holly reassuringly.  
          “That’s good,” replied Vernon.  “I’m kind of tired of sitting in this chair…”  
          Holly smiled again and then turned her attention to something in front of him.  Vernon looked too and saw that huge mirror and the black haired person standing in front of it.  
          “Hey,” said Vernon with surprise.  “It’s happening again!” he added as the person fixed his black eyes directly on Vernon and said in a high cold voice: “Hello, Harry Potter.  Surprised to see me?”   
          “I know,” said Holly calmly.  “That’s the idea.”  
          “Huh?” asked Vernon.  He glanced at Holly but she didn’t explain further, only looked steadily at the person with the black eyes so Vernon did too.  He hadn’t paid the figure much attention the first time.  Once Vernon figured out it was a projection of some sort and not a real person, Vernon had devoted his time to trying to get out—shouting and yelling to see if anyone else was around to help.  But there hadn’t been anyone.  “Who is he?” Vernon asked curiously while studying the person, a handsome youth who looked not much older than himself.  At the moment he was boasting about how he got somebody named Ginny to help…  
          “His name is Tom Riddle,” answered Holly her eyes still fixed on the person.  The person, Tom Riddle, was now talking about green eyes, a trophy room and detention…  
          “Why’s he got it in for Cousin Harry?”  All of this had been obviously intended for Cousin Harry.  
          Holly looked over at Vernon.  “I honestly don’t know,” she replied thoughtfully.  “I should try and ask Cousin Harry sometime but I don’t know if he’d answer.  He’s pretty private.”  
          “Oh.  He reminds me a lot of Montague,” said Vernon studying Tom Riddle’s arrogant stance and icy face that radiated hatred as he explained they would go back in time for a “rematch.”  
          “Then this Montague is a very dangerous person indeed,” said Holly firmly.  
          “Yes,” agreed Vernon remembering Montague’s relentless voice in the gym when he insisted Vernon talk about anything and everything or risk being crushed by exercise weights.  “And I don’t think he likes purple either…” Vernon added.  
          “Oh Vernon!” cried Holly with real anguish understanding his reference immediately.  “I’m so sorry!  If I had known someone like Tom Riddle would get that letter I would have never ever sent it!”  She meant the letter she had mailed Vernon last year, which Montague intercepted.  The letter dripped purple ink when opened by anyone other than Vernon…   
          “It’s O.K.,” replied Vernon,  “Cousin Harry fixed things…”  Montague had looked immensely happier with clean hands the next day but Vernon had kept his distance just in case.  
          “I’m glad,” said Holly sounding relieved, “because Tom Riddle is like, seriously _evil!_ And if this Montague is anything like him, then…”  
          “Yeah, I know,” replied Vernon.  “I’ve been avoiding Montague as much as possible,” he told her.  That was easier said than done as the professors had handed Montague additional supervisorial responsibilities giving him lots of power over the other students.  So far, however, nothing else serious had happened between the two of them.  
          “The movie was O.K.,” commented Vernon as the figure of Tom Riddle pointed to the surface of the huge standing mirror, which then began to swirl with different colours. Vernon had stopped momentarily trying to call for help and rested while he watched it.  He and Holly were both quiet as Tom Riddle gave a spine-chilling laugh at the thought of Vernon/Harry somehow “watching his own death.”  Tom Riddle then coldly bid “Good-bye” signifying the end of, as he put it, the “famous … Harry … Potter” before dissolving into mist and vanishing.  
          “Kind of short though,” Vernon reflected referring to the length of the movie to come while shivering mentally.  The Riddle guy had been serious about making whoever sat in the chair, Harry or not, starve to death and would no doubt have succeeded had Holly not somehow arrived.  Tom Riddle was one scary dude.   
          Vernon pushed the unnerving thoughts of Tom Riddle aside and concentrated on the movie in front of him instead.  “And bad filming,” he added when Vernon again saw that overview of the large cavern looking down over the head of a huge stone statue.  “It could have used some close-ups,” Vernon continued when he viewed the three people dressed in black at the base of the statue.  “They’re too small to see very well.”  The girl with bright red hair lay still on the ground.  A small boy wearing glasses was bending over her and the third person, who looked like this Tom Riddle guy, leaned on a pillar.  “I wonder what they’re supposed to be saying?” mused Vernon.  “Sound would have been useful also.  And the acting, its—”  
          “It’s not a movie,” interrupted Holly flatly, “and they’re not acting.”  
          “Huh?” Vernon looked at Holly in surprise.  She was watching the mirror intently.  “But what else could it be?” he questioned, adding, “especially when it repeats like this?”   
          “That’s Cousin Harry,” said Holly ignoring Vernon’s question and pointed at the boy in black robes wearing the glasses, “when he was twelve years old.”   
          Vernon looked closely at the boy.  It did sort of look like a younger version of Cousin Harry but still… “So who took the video?” he asked.  Even if it _was_ Cousin Harry, it still had to be a recording of some sort.  
          “I said it wasn’t a movie,” restated Holly firmly.  “And it’s not a recording!  That’s Cousin Harry and he’s twelve!” she repeated.  “The girl is Ginny Weasley.  You’ve met her at the station,” Holly continued. “She’s Cousin Harry’s wife now.”  And Vernon vaguely remembered the red haired lady he had scarcely said “hello” to before dad had whisked the family out of the station after the Holidays.  “You’re looking into the past,” insisted Holly.  
          “So you’re saying this rewinding time stuff he was talking about was for real?”   
          “Yes,” replied Holly.  “And that’s a phoenix,” she added when the red bird flew out dropping a ragged old hat at the boy’s feet and then landed on his shoulder.”             
          “Phoenixes don’t exist,” stated Vernon automatically while he watched the images in the mirror.  
          “They do for wizards,” countered Holly.  “And that’s a basilisk chasing after him.  You’ll turn to stone if you look into a basilisk’s eyes.  
          “But that can’t be right,” protested Vernon while he watched the boy run with arms outstretched from the huge snake, the basilisk, as Holly called it.  “Because in this film—”  
          “I’m telling you it’s not a film!”  
          “Well whatever it is,” conceded Vernon, “it’s not real because the boy you claim is Cousin Harry dies in it and…”  
          “I know!” replied Holly.  
          “But he’s not dead!” protested Vernon.   
          “That’s what we have to fix,” replied Holly patiently.   
          “Fix?”   
          “Yes, we have to fix it so Cousin Harry lives before we can get out of this room.”  
          “Oh,” replied Vernon.   Then he asked, “How?”  
          “With that!” said Holly indicating the silver sword that had just appeared.   
          Vernon remembered the sword from last time.  It lay with its glittering red rubied handle tantalizingly just out of reach.  He wasn’t sure whether it was real or not, but Vernon had tried hard with his feet to get the sword nearer in the hopes of using it somehow to cut his straps.  All he succeeded in doing was making the straps tighten even more around his legs.  Vernon didn’t see how a sword _here_ could help anyone somewhere else let alone someone in a mirror.   
          He watched curiously as Holly used both hands to grasp the handle and lift the sword.  Surely she’d use it to break his straps, but instead she pointed it towards the mirror.  “What do you intend to do with it?” he asked.   
          Holly stood with the sword in front of the mirror, blocking Vernon’s view, but he didn’t have to see to know what was happening.  He’d seen it before.  The boy, Cousin Harry, as Holly insisted, tripped and fell.  Then the red bird attacked the snake and the boy put on that dumb looking hat just before the snake reached down and grabbed him in its jaws.  The snake gave a shake and crunched down…  Then everything went black.  It was a pretty lame ending.  The scene did make more sense if it was supposed to be Cousin Harry down there and Cousin Harry in the chair as Tom Riddle intended except that was impossible—you couldn’t be in two places at once could you?   
          Suddenly Holly leaned forward into the mirror with the sword pointing forward.  Instead of breaking or toppling the mirror, the sword seemed to go right into it.  “That’s a pretty neat trick,” said Vernon admiringly as Holly stepped back away from the mirror without the sword.   
          “Watch,” said Holly standing to one side giving Vernon a clear view.   
          The boy that was supposed to be Cousin Harry was still on the ground with that dumb hat on his head.  Vernon watched in amazement as Cousin Harry grabbed a sword from out of the hat—a silver sword with glittering red colour at the handle.  The snake lunged at Cousin Harry.  Still gripping the sword, he dodged and the snake hit the chamber wall.  The snake opened its mouth wide and lunged at Cousin Harry again.  He brought the sword up into the roof of the snake’s mouth.  The snake keeled over sideways and fell, twitching, to the floor.  The room went black. 

********************

          “Everything’s O.K.,” assured Holly calmly her voice sounding loud and clear in the darkness.  Vernon realized she must have felt his sudden panic at the darkness.  “How did you like that ending?” she asked.  
          “Much better,” agreed Vernon forcing himself to focus on her words not the darkness that threatened to swallow him.   
          “That’s the way it’s supposed to have been,” informed Holly.  
          “But I don’t understand,” Vernon began, "if that’s really Cousin Harry when he was twelve, then that means we’re looking into the past somehow, and that’s just not possible!”  
          “Tom Riddle was a clever, really powerful, wizard,” replied Holly.  “I don’t know how he did it, but he did.  He made time go backwards somehow.”  Suddenly, the lights came on.  Vernon breathed a major sigh of relief.    
          “Look!” Holly commanded directing his attention again to the mirror.  The mirror’s polished surface had already begun to swirl with colour. The colour solidified into a new scene.  This scene showed someplace outside in the open air.  Everything looked almost gray.  It could be dusk, or dawn.  Vernon could barely make out a big stone building and a huge door of some sort.  
          “It’s morning,” said Holly softly, “and that’s my school, Hogwarts.”  
          _“Really?”_ thought Vernon and he stared at the castle and grounds with much more interest.   
          “There was a big battle at Hogwarts, 21 years ago,” added Holly in an instructional voice.  And indeed Vernon could see the signs of battle, the walls of the castle and door looked heavily battered, there were black scorch marks everywhere and several sections of the wall appeared deeply pitted.   
          “That’s Lord Voldemort and his forces coming to the castle,” continued Holly pointing out the row of tiny light moving towards the castle.  The lights suddenly winked out and Vernon saw some figures step out of the woods onto the cleared grounds while still heading towards the castle.  
          “Lord Voldemort’s the guy in front with the snake,” continued Holly while pointing to one of the figures.  
          “Voldemort?” said Vernon in surprise.  He recognized the name.  Holly had mentioned it to him during the holidays when she was explaining why dad had changed his name from Dursley to Wycliff.  Vernon peered closely at the person with white skin.   The huge snake wrapped around his body made the guy difficult to see.  “Why him?” he asked,  “I thought this was all Tom Riddle’s bit!”  
          “Tom Riddle changed his name when he got older,” said Holly solemnly, “to Lord Voldemort.”  
          “Oh,” said Vernon with new understanding.  At least there was only one crazy wizard out there instead of two though this guy didn’t look the least bit like the handsome boy who called himself Tom Riddle.  
          “That big man behind Lord Voldemort is Hagrid," Holly continued conversationally.  "He’s one of the professors at Hogwarts.  He’s carrying Cousin Harry.”  
          “Cousin Harry looks bigger,” observed Vernon as he saw the person in Hagrid’s arms.  
          “Yes,” agreed Holly.  “This is, um,” she thought a bit, “five years after the thing with the basilisk.”  
          “And dead,” added Vernon bluntly as Hagrid set the limp body down on the ground in front of all the people that had streamed out from behind the big doors.  
          “Cousin Harry was playing dead for some reason,” said Holly calmly.  
          “How come he didn’t know?” asked Vernon.  
          “Huh?”  
          “I mean if Lord Voldemort was such a great wizard,” explained Vernon.  “How come he didn’t know Cousin Harry was still alive?”  
          “Good question,” answered Holly thoughtfully.  “He should have known!  But he didn’t for some reason.  I don’t know why but Professor Lovegood said it must have been terribly embarrassing for Lord Voldemort to learn otherwise.  Knowing what I know now, I think she’s right.  Look,” Holly added eagerly when a young man from the crowd came forward to face Lord Voldemort.  “That person is Professor Longbottom; he teaches Herbology.”  
          “There’s that dumb hat again,” said Vernon as he saw a pointed hat floating in the air.  
          “It’s called a sorting hat,” said Holly absently as the hat landed on Professor Longbottom’s head.  But Holly wasn’t watching the mirror any more.  She had bent down and was lifting up a sword.  
          “When did that get there?” asked Vernon with surprise.  He recognized the sword as the same one that had been in the room earlier.  _“And how?”_ he added mentally.  
          Holly didn’t answer.  Instead, she was pushing the sword directly into the mirror right over the image of Professor Longbottom where a fire had begun.  The sword seemed to slide into the mirror as if it was butter.  “Check this out!” Holly told Vernon stepping back so he could watch clearly.  
          So Vernon watched.  Professor Longbottom seemed frozen in place.  All of the sudden he pulled the sword out of the hat and with a single strike sliced off the head of the snake!  “Woah!” said Vernon impressed.  The snake’s head flew tumbling through the air coming closer and closer and…  A smelly cloth suddenly landed on Vernon’s face covering his eyes blocking his vision!  “Wha—?”  
          “Sorry!” he heard Holly say.  Scarcely had Holly finished speaking when Vernon heard a loud thunderous _crack_ followed by the sound of breaking glass!  Suddenly the straps across his chest constricted forcing the breath out of him; Vernon felt and heard several “cracks” in his front and sides as the straps continued to squeeze even tighter!  At the same time he felt pelted by numerous small hard objects with sharp ends.  Then everything went quiet.

********************

_“Lumnos!”_ came Holly’s voice clearly from somewhere next to him.  “Just hang on,” she told Vernon confidently.  “I’ll have you out soon!”  Vernon didn’t respond.  He was having a hard time breathing; the straps had tightened so much he could scarcely take a breath!  Vernon never imagined the pain of sitting in that chair could be worse than it had been, but it was!  
          The smelly cloth was removed; Vernon opened his eyes and saw a soft yellow light shining over him.  He recognized the concerned face of Holly bending over him.  She held a lit stick up high like a torch.  _“Where had that come from?”_ Vernon wondered vaguely while Holly’s other hand was briskly shaking out the cloth, the blue sweatshirt he had seen her wear earlier.  Between his loud wheezes, Vernon heard the tinkle of broken glass landing on the ground.  Holly was now wearing a light coloured t-shirt with a sparkly black line drawing and glittering green eyes—Vernon recognized it as the shirt he had given Holly for her birthday, the one he last remembered seeing her wearing.  He could see dark splinters of wood sticking out of her hair.  Even with the light, it was hard to see; dust filled the air making everything seem hazy. It was so hard to breathe and when Vernon did manage to get some air, the dust made him cough!  
          “Don’t bother trying to talk,” Holly told him as she used the sweatshirt, to brush away the broken bits of glass from the rest of Vernon’s body.  “I know it hurts.  I’ll have the straps off in a minute.”  
          When she had finished brushing him off, Holly set the sweatshirt down on the floor, straightened and transferred the lit stick to her other hand.  Was that her wand?  Vernon guessed it must be though he had never seen it before and had certainly never seen her use it.  Why hadn’t she used the wand when she first arrived?  
          “I’m afraid I’m going to have to turn out the light,” Holly told him, “but only for a few seconds while I get these straps cut.”  The light winked out. _“Diffindo!”_ Holly shouted immediately.  There was a loud crack and a flash of light before all was dark again.   
 _“Lumnos!”_ Holly said next.  The soft yellow light returned.  Vernon saw the light up at Holly’s head, the wand appeared tucked behind her ear and Holly used both hands to swiftly remove the straps that held Vernon’s chest to the chair.   
          Suddenly Vernon could breath freely again!  The dust had settled a bit, but when he tried to draw a deep breath, he could feel a sharp pain stabbing into his chest!  “Ow!” he said immediately wincing in pain.  Beyond Holly, Vernon could see a pile of rubble, the remains of the huge mirror.  Vernon tried to talk.  He wheezed some more and then started to cough.  
          “Take short breaths,” advised Holly.  “It’ll hurt less that way.”  
          “You— _gasp, cough, cough_ —knew!” sputtered Vernon accusingly between breaths. “You knew— _cough—_ it would break!” he tried again.  Holly started using both hands to unwind a strap and release his arm.  “How did you know?” Vernon asked quickly before his body went uncontrollably into another series of coughs.  
          Vernon's arm dropped limply to his side before Holly answered.  “I’ve been here before,” she said in a low voice not looking directly at him.  
          “How?” argued Vernon when his coughing stopped.  “You’ve never been to dad’s old place before.”  But even as he spoke, Vernon knew somehow Holly was telling the truth.  All the signs were there; he just hadn’t been paying attention:  Holly might have heard Cousin Harry had killed that snake, but the rest of it—she hadn’t been surprised by anything:  she knew about the crazy chair, that something needed fixing, the exploding mirror, and what to do with the sword; she had expected all of it!  
          “There’s a plaque like the one you touched in the trophy room at Hogwarts,” replied Holly as she started unwinding the straps binding Vernon’s other arm.  “Or there was," she amended.  "Albus touched the plaque and it was _he_ sitting in that chair instead of you,” Holly continued quietly.  
          “Who?” questioned Vernon as his other arm fell limply into his lap.  
          “Albus,” replied Holly removing the wand from her ear.  “He has green eyes too, and he’s Cousin Harry’s son.”  
          “Oh,” said Vernon, not knowing what else to say.  How could the same room be gotten into from two different places—especially a room with no visible doors or windows?  
          “This is the reason why dad didn’t want me to return to Hogwarts after my first year,” added Holly.  “Why don’t you work on wiggling your fingers to improve circulation while I get your legs free,” she suggested while pointing her light at the straps around his legs.  
          “O.K.,” replied Vernon staring at his non-moving fingers before the light again went out.  
 _“Diffindo!”_ Holly shouted.  There was a familiar loud crack and a flash of light. _“Lumnos!”_ she said next and the soft yellow light returned again glowing behind Holly’s ear.  Then Holly began to remove the straps from around his legs.  “There,” said Holly with satisfaction when the last of the straps had been removed.  “Now we get out of here!  Come on!” she encouraged Vernon lifting one of his arms and placing it over her shoulder.  “We haven’t much time.”  
          “Uh, Holly,” began Vernon hesitantly.  
          “Yes?” replied Holly while tugging Vernon out of the chair.   
          “I don’t think I can move…”  
          “What?” questioned Holly immediately stopping what she was doing.  “But of course you can,” she protested.  “You’re not hurting…  Come on!  You can do it!” she encouraged. “Just try!” and Holly resumed her efforts to get Vernon out of the chair.  Vernon didn’t argue and tried his best to help.  But he was far heavier than Holly and when she succeeded on getting him balanced on her shoulders, and tried to move off, Vernon’s legs collapsed and the two fell to the floor.  
          “Vernon!” said Holly in a shocked voice.  
          “Told you,” he muttered.  
          “But you don’t—” Holly stopped.  She placed a finger firmly on one of Vernon’s legs and pushed down hard.  Vernon could see her do it but he couldn’t feel it.  Holly looked up at Vernon questioningly.  “You can’t feel a thing, can you?” she asked softly.  
          Vernon nodded shamefacedly.  “Haven’t been able to for some time now,” he confessed.  
          “What happened?”  
          “I kept on struggling,” he began, “trying to get out, trying to get free—and the straps—they just kept on tightening and tightening until I couldn’t move any more…  It hurt for a while,” Vernon added reflectively, “then it got numb and then I couldn’t feel anything, anything at all…"  
          “Why didn’t you say something?”  
          “Didn’t matter before,” replied Vernon philosophically while he watched Holly rub one of his legs.  “I figured I was doomed to die in that chair and at least it wouldn’t hurt as much in the end.  I never thought anyone would arrive to rescue me…” he added.  “What are you doing?” he asked as Holly removed one of his shoes and started rubbing his foot and wiggling the toes beneath his sock.  
          “Trying to increase your circulation,” answered Holly as she worked.  “You’ve got to be able to move your feet,” said Holly with concern.  “I can’t carry you on my own and we’ve got to get to the wall!”  
          “Oh.”  
          “Come on, come on!” Holly muttered anxiously as she wiggled Vernon’s ankle and toes.  
          “Why the hurry?” asked Vernon while he tried to wiggle his toes too.  They stubbornly refused to do anything.  
          “Because Tom Riddle’s curse was the only thing holding this place together,” explained Holly now rubbing his other leg.  “Without his curse this room is going to fall apart!  And if we’re in it when it happens…”   She removed his other shoe and started working on his foot and toes.  
          “I get the picture,” said Vernon grimly.  “How long do we have?” he asked as he concentrated on moving his legs, arms, fingers, anything!  He could feel a bit of a tingle, but that wasn’t enough, not nearly enough…   
          “I don’t know,” replied Holly as she again massaged his legs.  “Last time, I got hit by part of the mirror when it exploded and was knocked unconscious.  The blocks in the ceiling were falling by the time I woke up.”  
          “Great,” muttered Vernon and he renewed his efforts on movement.  “Hey!” he said eagerly as he saw rather than felt his toes jerk a bit under his direction. “I think it’s working!”  
          “That’s the way!” said Holly approvingly.  “Now let’s get some more movement!” she said as she vigorously renewed her own massaging efforts.  
          Slowly sensation began to return throughout Vernon’s body. The numbness diminished and the steady tingle increased until, “It hurts!” Vernon suddenly said.  And indeed much like sensation returning to frost bitten hands, with the increased circulation came increased pain.  Pain everywhere—building and building until, “Make it stop!” Vernon cried in agony.   
          “I don’t know how!” replied Holly.  She kept on rubbing his legs as if that would help.  
          But the pain didn’t stop.  It kept on increasing and increasing until Vernon could think of nothing else.  The pain felt like a thousand needles piercing his body over and over again at once, a never ending fire that was everywhere and unstoppable!  Vernon found himself screaming uncontrollably.  His mind kept on screaming long after his voice gave out and still the pain continued.

********************

          At some point Vernon Wycliff found himself again in control of his senses.  He still hurt, but the pain had receded to more tolerable levels.  He realized he was lying on a cold rough floor.  Not only that, but he could _feel_ the floor beneath him!  Holly was cradling him in her arms crooning softly, “It’ll be O.K.,” over and over again.  She stopped when he raised his head and looked about.  “Feeling better?” she asked gently.  
          “Yeah,” he croaked.  His throat felt awful!  Holly’s lit wand was sticking out off to one side stuck in a crack between the stones and Vernon could just barely see her features in its soft light.  A loud crash sounded from nearby.  Vernon looked over at the sound.  He saw a cloud of dust rise in one corner of the room adding to the dust already in the air.  
          “Think you can move?” Holly asked.  Vernon nodded, coughing because of the dust.  His arms and legs did seem to be functioning more on command.  “Good,” she replied, “because I think we had better get out of here now!”  And another huge block came crashing down making the whole room shudder and filling the air with dust.  Holly again draped Vernon’s arm over her shoulder.  With her free hand she reached out and grabbed her wand holding it like a torch out in front of her.  Then she staggered to a stand.  This time Vernon was able to move his legs under him and bear most of his weight.  Together the two stumbled forward to one of the wall threading their way between several huge stone blocks that had already fallen.  
          When they reached the wall Holly stopped.  “It won’t be long now,” she said confidently.  Holly pointed her wand resolutely at the wall.  The light winked out.  Holly shouted _“Bombardia Maximus_!”  There was a flash of light accompanied by the sound of a loud explosion.  The whole room shuttered and more blocks came out of the ceiling landing with a loud crash.  The dust sent Vernon into a spasm of coughing that hurt all the worse because of the stabbing pain in his chest.  It took several minutes before he could stop.   
          “Darn!” muttered Holly in the darkness. _**“Bombardia Maximus!”**_ she shouted again.  Again there was loud blast of sound, and a flash of light; the room shuttered and blocks landed disturbingly near.  
            Vernon covered his mouth with his free arm avoiding the dust cloud that had caused him to cough before.  “Is that what’s supposed to happen?” asked Vernon curiously from beneath his arm.  He didn’t like the way more blocks kept on falling around them.  
          “No!” replied Holly worriedly.  “It’s supposed to break through the wall so we can get out!”  
          “Oh.”  
 ** _“BOMBARDARIA MAXIMUS!”_** Holly shouted a third time.  Again the room shuttered and blocks landed…  
          “Maybe it’s the wrong wall…”  
          “No, it’s the right wall,” replied Holly with conviction.  _“Lumnos!”_ she added and the wand lit up illuminating all the recent damage in the room.  Huge stone blocks practically covered the floor.  Others piled on top of the fallen ones. One stone block had landed directly on the chair crushing it completely.  The wall in front of them looked totally undamaged.  “It’s the wall nearest the way we came in,” Holly explained.  
          “No it isn’t,” argued Vernon looking around.  “I fell into the chair from the front.  So I must have come in from that way,” he said lifting his free arm to point.  “Can’t figure out how I missed the mirror when I was feeling around in the beginning…” he mused.  
          “You fell into the chair from the front?” asked Holly wonderingly.  “But that means—of course!” she said excitedly.  “The trophy room entrance isn’t there any more!  We destroyed it!  You’re right!” Holly told Vernon as she hastily turned around pulling Vernon with her.  “This is the wrong wall!  From the front you say?” she asked urging Vernon to move forward.   
          “Yeah,” confirmed Vernon.  
          “We’ve got to hurry,” Holly told Vernon.  “We haven’t much time…”


	24. Chapter 24

          Dillon Wycliff blinked in surprise.  Where was Holly?  Holly had been there moments earlier and then she wasn’t!!!  How could that be?   
          “Where’s Holly?” Laurel asked him.  “She was just there!  I’ve never seen anyone move so quickly.  It was almost as if she vanished!”  
          “She did!” growled Dillon a sense of anger overcoming his usual caution and fear.  “And I bet I know why!  Should have known he’d never let her go once he got his hooks into her,” he muttered angrily.  Dillon took a step forward turning and shouted:  “Come out wherever you are Harry!  And bring Holly with you!  How dare you take her away like that!”  Only the peaceful twittering of birds greeted his call.   
          “Don’t be ridiculous!” scoffed Laurel.  “Harry Potter would never do something like that!”  
          “You don’t know them like I do!” argued Dillon darkly.  “They’re sneaky when they want to be!  They probably never intended to let Holly leave the school!  Can you shut up that darned cat?” he added as an afterthought.  Holly’s cat had started yowling almost the moment Dillon realized Holly had disappeared.  It was most annoying to say the least.  
          “Nonsense!” argued Laurel as she walked up to the cat. It was crouched in the grass near where Dillon had last seen Holly.  “Why would he have sent us transcripts?” she asked.  “If Harry intended for Holly to stay with him, he would have told you up front so at least we wouldn’t worry!”  Laurel bent down to look at the cat.  “Sasha,” she began, talking to the cat as if it understood her.  “You’ve got to stop crying!  We’re trying to find Holly and we can’t think what to do with all that noise you’re making.”  To Dillon’s surprise, the cat immediately stopped yowling but remained crouched in the grass while staring intently at Laurel.  Its tail twitched restlessly back and forth in the grass.  Laurel bent down looking at the cat.  
          “Harry!” Dillon shouted out angrily.  “When I get my hands on you!!!” he threatened.  
          “Dillon!” called out Laurel as she reached out towards the cat and picked up something.  
          “What?”  
          “Look!” and she held out Holly’s charm bracelet for Dillon to see.  “I found this in the grass!  Holly’s never without her charm bracelet!” Laurel added while walking back to Dillon.  Dillon took the bracelet into his hands and stared at it in disbelief.  “How could she have gone and yet leave her charm bracelet behind?” Laurel asked.  
          Dillon frowned.  “I don’t know,” he replied knowing Laurel was right.  This was all horribly odd even for Harry!  “Vernon,” he called out suddenly, “did you see where Holly went?”  There was no answer.  Dillon looked over at the tree where he had last seen Vernon but couldn’t see him anywhere!  “Vernon?” Dillon called out questioningly.  There was no reply.  “This isn’t funny!” Dillon added.  “Where are you?  Come over here now!”  There was still no reply.  Only birds chirped in answer to his calls.   
          Laurel walked towards the tree and Dillon followed behind.  It was the last place they had seen Vernon.  “Vernon!” shouted Laurel in a worried voice as they walked.  “Where are you?”   
          “He’s probably in the car,” Dillon suggested positively and changed his direction to towards the car.  “That’s why he doesn’t answer.  He can't hear us!”  Dillon clutched Holly’s bracelet in his hand and fought the cold pit in his stomach he felt growing by the second.   
          “Perhaps,” agreed Laurel in a doubtful voice.  Neither of them mentioned out loud that Vernon had definitely been at the tree the last time they saw him.  And Dillon hadn’t heard a car door open…   
          The car was as empty as he expected it but Dillon hadn’t known where else to look.  The neighborhood was quiet with neatly trimmed lawns and no real hiding places.   
          “Vernon?” he heard Laurel call out hopefully when she reached the tree.  Laurel looked up into the tree.   Then she turned and looked helplessly at Dillon.  “He’s gone!” Laurel confirmed.   
          Dillon nodded wordlessly while feeling physically ill.  Both their children were inexplicitly gone!   
          “Harry and his people,” began Laurel tentatively, “they’d have no reason to take Vernon too, would they?”  
          “No,” agreed Dillon heavily, “they wouldn’t.”  The wizards had always ignored him.  Holly they might want, but never Vernon.  
          “So where are they?”  
          “I don’t know,” Dillon confessed.  He was at a loss what to do next to find them and certain something horrible had happened.  
          “Well, they can’t have just gone into thin air!” insisted Laurel stubbornly.  She obviously knew nothing about wizards and their ways.  “There’s got to be a clue somewhere!”  Laurel started pacing around with her eyes fixed on the ground.  Dillon just stood there clutching Holly’s bracelet.  “That’s right!” Laurel exclaimed suddenly.  “Vernon was talking about something he had found in the tree!”  She turned her attention to the tree.  It was an older tree, one that had been there ever since Dillon could remember.  “Look!” Laurel exclaimed pointing at something in the trunk.  “There _was_ something in the tree!”  
          “If there is,” Dillon conceded leaving the car to join Laurel and take a look.  “It was nothing either of us put there…  Of that I’m certain.”  Sure enough there was a heart-shaped item in the tree.  “Dad would have split a gasket if he ever saw this!” commented Dillon dryly as he reached up and brushed it off so the lettering was easier to read.  Dillon could just barely read the words, _“Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley and Tom Riddle, Now and Forever”_ scratched on the metal.  Once brushed, the metal seemed to gleam like a mirror and he could see Laurel’s green eyes reflect weirdly in its surface.   
          Without a word, Laurel reached out and touched it.  “No!” Laurel exclaimed suddenly as she removed her finger.  “Oh no!” she said in panic opening her purse and digging through its contents.  
          “What?” asked Dillon in alarm as he watched Laurel bring out a small change bag.  
          Laurel dropped her purse in her haste and opened the change bag.  She removed a silver chain from the bag.  Attached to it was a familiar pendant.  Holly’s Healthstone!  Dillon knew Laurel kept it with her always, but never where Dillon would see it; he had made it clear he wanted none of that witchy stuff anywhere near.   
          “What?” asked Dillon again now thoroughly alarmed.  Laurel would have never let Dillon see the Healthstone or its hiding place were it not a total emergency.  Seeing Laurel’s frantic face, Dillon looked with Laurel at the shiny surface of the pendant now cradled in Laurel’s hand.  It sparkled and shined iridescent in the daylight. “Oh,” breathed Laurel in relief, a sentiment Dillon shared.  “At least she’s all right!”   
          “Yeah,” agreed Dillon.  “But what about Vernon?”  Laurel shook her head helplessly as she folded her fingers over the pendant hiding it and dropped the bag to the ground next to her purse. They both knew the pendant said nothing about him.  “What is it?” Dillon demanded again. “What do you know?”  
          “Those names,” began Laurel while pacing back and forth.  “That plaque, the eyes!  There was something like that at Holly’s school the first year!”   
          “What makes you think so?” asked Dillon.  The knot in his stomach tightened and twisted in apprehension.  The Healthstone had changed from iridescent to a dark purple colour and Holly had nearly died at _that school_ her first year.  It was one of the reasons Dillon wanted to remove Holly from _that school_ and its people.  The place was just too dangerous.  But they were nowhere near _that school_ now.  How could this be the same sort of thing?  
          “It was something she said,” began Laurel while still pacing.  “Somewhere in the middle of the story, Holly said she touched something that took her to this horrible room and they were trapped inside when the room began to fall apart—huge stones were falling everywhere…”  
          “There are no rooms here!” observed Dillon.  
          “No,” agreed Laurel, “but the thing she touched, I think it also said Harry Potter and Tom Riddle…”  
          “So?  Harry Potter lived here.”  
          “But not Tom Riddle!” continued Laurel.  “Holly said Tom Riddle was another name for that Volde—Voldemort guy!”  
          Dillon felt the blood drain from his face!  “NO!” he exclaimed clutching the charm bracelet ever tighter in his hand.   If Voldemort was involved the situation was truly deadly!  “Why don’t I know?” he asked finally.  
          “Holly told me over Christmas,” explained Laurel.  “I insisted.  It was some crazy whacked out story that you’d never believe.  I’m not sure I even believed it but Holly assured me it would never happen again so I put it out of my mind.  Harry Potter’s got to be told!”  Laurel added.   
           Dillon shuttered at the mention of Harry’s name.  He wanted nothing to do with Harry and his lot but he wanted his children back more and if what Laurel said was true, then they did need Harry!  “The book?” he asked faintly meaning the one Cousin Harry had given Laurel so she could contact him.  Dillon had wanted to get rid of the book, but Laurel refused.  He knew she kept the book hidden somewhere in the house.  
          “I didn’t bring the book!” Laurel said in frustration.  “Why should I?”  She was right.  There should have been no reason to bring the book.  They were severing their ties with Harry.  Who could have expected this!  
          “Where is it?” asked Dillon resolutely while fishing out his car keys.  “I’ll go get it!”  
          “I’m coming with you!” said Laurel snatching up her purse quickly.   
          “No,” said Dillon, “I’ll manage.”  
          “But that’ll take hours to drive!” protested Laurel.  “You can’t do it alone!”  
          “Can’t be helped,” said Dillon heavily while opening the car door.  “You’re right.  Harry has to be contacted and there’s no other way.”  Dillon began mentally calculating the number of hours it would take to get back home—four at least taking a direct route—more if he ran into traffic.  Less if he sped and didn’t get caught.  Would he be in time?  He had to try.  “Someone has to stay here in case the kids show up or to show Harry the tree,” Dillon added.  “So, where’s the book?”  
          “You should be here when your cousin arrives,” insisted Laurel.  “I’ll drive.  It would be easier than trying to explain to you where the book is.”  
          “No,” said Dillon firmly sliding behind the wheel.  “You stay.  This is my fault.  I’ve got to fix it.”  And it _was_ his fault the children were missing.   
          “Never return!” was what Harry’s weird friends had told them.  “It’s too dangerous!”   
          “Don’t go back,” said his parents.  “No point in dredging up memories of that awful boy!”  But Dillon had insisted on coming anyway.  If he had only listened to them none of this would have happened!  How could he have been so foolish as to risk his family’s lives for a bit of sentimentality!  
          “No, wait!” said Laurel hopefully.  “I’ve an idea...”  Dillon waited anxiously while Laurel dug around in her purse.  She pulled out her cell phone.  
          “I don’t think Harry has a phone,” he said reminding Laurel.  
          “I know,” said Laurel turning the phone on and dialing a number, “Hello?” she said over the phone.  “I’d like information for Sudbury please.”  
          “Who are you calling?” asked Dillon.  Harry lived somewhere in London not Sudbury.  
          “Yes?” Laurel said into the phone.  “I’d like the number of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Smith, please—they live in Brundon.”  Laurel tipped her head to Dillon.  “The Smiths should have a phone,” she told him.  Dillon knew the Smiths were not wizards, but their daughter Becky was.  “Hopefully they can contact Harry for us.”   Becky was Holly’s best friend at _that school._   Laurel sent all their mail to the Smiths to be forwarded on to Holly and Holly did the same in return.  That insured no owls would arrive at their house.  “At least it’s worth a try,” Laurel added.  “I hope they’re listed,” she muttered to herself worriedly.  “What?” she asked suddenly into the phone.  “Oh.  What was that address?” Laurel dug into her purse and fished out a pen and a scrap of paper while listening.  “Yes,” she said with relief.  “That’s the one.  Could you repeat that please?”  Laurel swiftly wrote some numbers on the paper.  “Thank you!” she said into the phone.   
          Laurel pressed another button and then dialed again using the number on the paper as reference.  “Now,” she said as she returned the phone to her ear.  “Let’s hope someone is home!”  Dillon remained behind the wheel while he waited to see what happened.  “Answer!” muttered Laurel with the phone glued to her ear.  Clearly she had gotten a ringing tone.  
          “Hello?” she said straightening.  “Is this Mrs. Smith?” There was a pause.  Then, “It is?” said Laurel.  “Well, this is Laurel Wycliff.  I know we’ve never met but…  What?  Yes!  Holly’s mother,” agreed Laurel in relief.   
          “I need a favor,” Laurel began, “a big one,” she continued without giving the Mrs. Smith a chance to respond.  “Can you get a hold of Harry Potter for us?  It’s an emergency!”  Laurel was quiet listening.  Then she added:  “The children, Holly and Vernon, are missing! … No, we haven’t called the authorities because I don’t think they can help!  They just vanished right in front of us without a sound!  Both of them!” Laurel continued.  “And there’s this thing in the tree that says Tom Riddle!  Please!” Laurel begged.  “Could you send Mr. Potter a message and tell him to call us?  My number is—” Laurel reeled off a string of numbers repeating them to make sure Mrs. Smith got them right.  “Yes,” breathed Laurel in relief.  “Thank you!” she added.  “Thank you so much!  We’ll be waiting!”   
          Laurel ended the call and walked back to Dillon.  “Mrs. Smith is going to send an owl right away!”  Laurel told him while pocketing the phone.  “I don’t know how long that will take but it can’t be as long as driving back to get the book.”   
           Dillon sighed and bowed his head in agreement.  He reluctantly got out of the car and shut the car door.  Laurel was probably right but driving was almost easier than waiting and doing nothing.  He longed to make the drive back anyway, just in case.  Instead, he found a spot on the curb under the shade of the tree and sat down.   
          “It’ll be O.K.,” Laurel said reassuringly as she sat down next to him.  
          Dillon didn’t answer.  There was nothing he could say.  He put his head in his hands.  The charms from Holly’s bracelet still clutched between his fingers dug into his temple.  How could he have screwed up so?

********************

            Harry Potter sat at his desk in his house doing paperwork.  Harry usually received quite a bit of mail every day. There were messages from Hogwarts, the Ministry, announcements, invitations, requests for endorsements, personal letters, fan mail, hate mail, bills…  Harry insisted on going through each and every piece personally.  
            He heard a knock at the door of his office.  That was odd.  The door was always left open, but everyone knew Harry did not wish to be disturbed while working in the office.  “Yes?” he asked looking up at the source.   
          Kreacher stood in the doorway.  He held a slender roll of parchment in one hand.  “Excuse me, Master,” said Kreacher bowing low; his batlike ears flapped slightly and the silver locket hanging down his chest dangled back and forth.  “This message just arrived for you.  It’s marked “urgent” and the Mistress thought you should have it right away.”  
          “Thank you,” replied Harry receiving the rolled parchment from Kreacher’s hand.  Kreacher bowed again and left.  Harry studied the unopened roll thoughtfully.  The outside contained the name “Harry Potter” and the word “Urgent” written in red ink.  There were no other markings to indicate its origins.  
          “Albus said he recognized the owl,” came the voice of Ginny.  
          Harry looked up again.  Ginny was standing in the doorway.  Her long red hair hung loose about her face.  She looked pale and a bit tired but beautiful as always. “He says it’s “Skyler,” Becky Smith’s owl,” Ginny added.   
          Harry frowned.  He knew Becky Smith was Holly’s friend.  The Smiths had never written him before.   
          “Why would the Smiths write us?” Ginny asked walking up to the desk.  “If it has to do with the Wycliffs,” she added curiously, (she, of course, knew of the arrangement the Wycliffs had with the Smiths,) “why didn’t the Wycliffs write using the book?”  
          “I don’t know,” replied Harry quietly.  “Shall we see?”  He untied the red ribbon and unrolled the parchment.  Harry could tell Ginny was dying with curiosity but she would never open anything addressed to him without his prior consent.  
          The message was brief and didn’t take long to read.  When he had finished, Harry stood quietly trying to control his racing heart while keeping his face empty of expression.  He rolled the parchment back up and tucked it to his robe before speaking.  “The Smiths are passing along a message from Mrs. Wycliff,” he began carefully.  
          “Oh?”   
          “Apparently both Vernon and Holly have vanished and the Wycliffs wanted me to know…”  
          “Vanished!  Both of them?”  
          “Yes,” replied Harry keeping his voice low so it wouldn’t betray any emotions.  Emotions wouldn’t help them now.  “And it seems there is something there bearing the name of Tom Riddle...”  
           “Tom!”  Ginny’s pale face drained of all colour.  “Vernon’s got green eyes doesn’t he?” she added softly no doubt drawing the same conclusion Harry had when he had read the message.  And she instinctively looked down at the Healthstone hanging from her neck checking it’s shiny iridescent colours.  
           “Yes,” answered Harry quietly.  “I’m going out to find a phone,” he told her.  “The Smiths included a number to contact the Wycliffs.”  
          Ginny nodded.  “What shall I do?” she whispered.   
          Harry thought a moment before answering.  “Let the Smiths know we’ve received their message.  No doubt they’re worried.  They’re Muggles,” he added explaining further, “and probably have little faith their owl safely reached us.  Then get a hold of Ron and Hermione.  See if they can be ready by the time I get back.  This is one time I don’t think I should try to take care of things alone…”

********************

          Laurel Wycliff sat on the curb besides Dillon.  It had been over an hour since she had called the Smiths.  It was nearing lunchtime but Laurel wasn’t hungry.  Periodically, she would check Holly’s Healthstone clutched in her hand for changes.  So far, it had stayed a reassuring iridescence.  More than ever, Laurel wished she had a similar stone for Vernon.  She hoped he was O.K. too.   
          Out of the corner of her eye Laurel could see the Sasha sitting in the grass. The cat had changed her direction so she was facing Laurel and Dillon but otherwise hadn’t moved from that same location since Holly had disappeared.  “Sasha must have been there that first time,” Laurel thought with surprise.  What had it been like?  Laurel knew Holly had turned up missing at Hogwarts.  She and Dillon had been informed of Holly’s disappearance when they made inquiries after Holly’s Healthstone had turned dark.  But no one provided details of the search that must have happened.  How had Harry Potter connected Holly’s disappearance with a tiny plaque?  Holly said that Harry Potter had been there to pull them out at the end.  Would he get there in time again?  
          Dillon hadn’t said a word since he first sat on the curb.  Holly’s bracelet was still tightly clutched in his hand and his hands still held his bowed head.  Dillon had looked devastated when Laurel suggested the plaque in the tree might be like something that nearly killed Holly that first year at Hogwarts.  He seemed to think this was somehow his entire fault.  But how could that be?  Neither Holly nor Harry had thought what had happened at the school would ever happen again and they should have known better than Dillon.   
           The waiting seemed worse than before.  That time Vernon had been fine.  Dillon and Laurel had only a Healthstone to know something was wrong in the first place and had received immediate assurances people were looking for Holly.  But the experience had been abstract—worrying, wondering and waiting at home.  This time there was no one looking for the children.  It was all very real and right in front of them.  This time _both_ Holly and Vernon could die!  
          Suddenly the loud blaring noise of her ringing cell phone interrupted the quiet of the neighborhood.  Dillon started visibly at its sound and Laurel nearly dropped the phone she already so anxiously clutched in her rush to answer it.   “Yes?” she answered hopefully.  
          “Where are you,” came the familiar voice of Harry Potter without any preliminaries.  
           “I, ah,” began Laurel flustered.  The question caught her by surprise.  She expected to provide some sort of explanation first.  Of course Laurel was glad she didn’t have to, but still… Why hadn’t she thought to be ready with stuff like that?  “It’s uh, Number 4 something,” Laurel began uncertainly.  She glanced quickly up the street looking for some sort of name while trying to remember what town they were in…  
          “We’re outside our old home on Privet Drive!” shouted Dillon over Laurel’s ear into the phone.  
          “We’ll be right there!” came the response before Laurel had time to repeat Dillon’s words.  Then the phone disconnected.  Laurel stared in disbelief at the cell phone in her hand.  The conversation had been so brief she scarcely believed it had happened.  “He says they’re coming,” Laurel told Dillon.  His shoulders and upper body moved up and down in acknowledgement while he kept his head buried in his hands.  “But he didn’t say when,” Laurel added as she put her phone away.  She wondered where Harry was when he called and how long it would take to get here.   
          Almost immediately several loud _“CRACKS!”_ sounded from behind her!  Laurel twisted in surprise at the sound and looked—she saw four people suddenly standing on the lawn!  Two she recognized—Harry Potter and his wife Ginny! They stood nearest to her and wore regular looking casual-type clothing.  The other two people—a tall man with red hair and a woman with long red-brown hair—wore black robes over their clothing that looked straight out of a university graduation ceremony.  Each of the four people carried a stick in one hand.  Wands?  
          Laurel hastily stood up to greet the four as they walked towards her.   
          “Mrs. Wycliff,” began Harry Potter without any preamble coming to a halt after he put his wand somewhere out of sight.  “You remember my wife, Ginny?”  Laurel nodded.  Ginny gave a faint smile by way of greeting while she tucked her wand out of sight.  Hanging prominently around her neck was a stylized silver oval pendant.  Laurel recognized the shimmer identifying it as a Healthstone similar to the one she clutched in her own hand except Ginny’s pendant was divided into three segments looking much like an ancient peace symbol.  “These are my friends Ron,” Harry said pointing to the red haired man who nodded his head towards Laurel briefly.  He was putting his wand away too. “…and Hermione Weasley.”   
          Hermione smiled and said, “It’s good to meet you.”  Then she added, “I’ll take care of the wards, Harry.”   
          “O.K.” Harry said nodding absently as Hermione walked off while still holding her wand out.  Laurel didn’t have time to wonder what a “ward” was because Harry was again talking to her.  “Where is it?” he asked bluntly.  
          “What? Uh—”  It took a few seconds for Laurel to figure out what Harry meant.  “Oh, the thing with Tom Riddle’s name?”  Harry nodded gravely.  “It’s on the tree over there!” Laurel pointed.  “I’ll show you if you’d like.”  
          “Yes, please.”  
          “Not so fast, mate,” said Ron stepping forward and placing a restraining hand on Harry’s shoulder.  “If that’s what we think it is, we don’t want you anywhere near it, Harry!  You stay here,” he told Harry.  “Gin and I will go and take a look.”  Harry looked ready to object, but instead he merely nodded his head and took a step backwards.  
_“What we think it is?”_ thought Laurel in confusion.  _“What **is** it?”_   She had touched it and nothing happened.  But Holly had indicated one had to be related to Harry Potter for _it,_ whatever _it_ was, to work.  Vernon was related to Harry.  Vernon must have touched it and gotten transported to that room—hence, he vanished.  Harry clearly hadn’t touched it, but wouldn’t touching it get him to the room where he could rescue Vernon?  So why didn’t they want him near it?  But then Holly hadn’t touched it and she had vanished too!  What did that mean?  There would be time for questions later, Laurel decided, when her children were back.  
          “Mrs. Wycliff, ma’am,” began Ron politely.  “Would you take us to the tree, please?”  
          Laurel nodded.  Ron’s black robe was a bit disconcerting, but otherwise, he seemed rather normal.  “Yes, of course,” she said.  “It’s this way…” and she started towards the tree.  Once she saw Ron and Ginny stand together, there was no question in Laurel’s mind who the “Ginny Weasley” was referred to on the plaque.  Ginny and Ron were clearly related—most likely brother and sister.  _“They didn’t seem to think the plaque was a danger to her,”_ pondered Laurel as she walked. _“So how was Ginny involved in all this?”_


	25. Chapter 25

          Harry Potter stared longingly at Ron, Ginny and Laurel as they walked off towards a fairly large shade tree with thick branches by the side of the street.  Every fiber in his body wanted to go with them, to see for himself if Tom Riddle had actually dared to create a second cursed object!  He wanted to destroy that plaque with his bare hands if necessary!  But unfortunately, Ron was right.  They had been lucky last time, really lucky Harry hadn’t touched that plaque in the trophy room.  Curses were known to strengthen with time.  With the children already trapped in the cursed room, the damage would have been irreversible.  They couldn’t afford to take the risk of Harry getting so close again…  Still, it hurt to have to stand aside helplessly and let others take care of things for him.  At the moment, Harry would give just about anything to be of some use.  
          As he watched the three stop in front of the tree, Harry wondered vaguely why Tom Riddle had selected the tree near the sidewalk for his curse instead of the closer tree located in the middle of the yard where Harry would have been more likely to see it.  That distance from the house was probably one factor that kept Harry from finding the plaque all these years.  No one had ever hung out at that tree…   
          A dense cloud of fog seemed to roll in stopping just behind the tree.  It crept all around creating a wall of white while leaving a clear area that included the tree, the Dursley house, yard and Dudley’s auto.  That would be Hermione’s doing.  None of them had any idea how long or what it would take to find the children but they didn’t want any witnesses while they worked.  
          Dudley sat quietly on the curb much where Harry had seen him when he had arrived.  The stricken face Harry saw when Dudley glanced briefly over at the four said it all.  His expression mirrored Harry’s own feelings at the situation.  How could he, Harry, have been so dense as to think what Tom Riddle had tried once he wouldn’t have done somewhere else as well!  It was Tom Riddle who first broached the possibility of seven Horcruxes to Professor Slughorn.  Might not the Riddle in the book also consider seven curses?  Just the thought of it made Harry feel physically ill.  Harry wished he could say something reassuring to Dudley, but couldn’t think of anything.  
          As Harry stared at Dudley, he recognized the glint between his fingers as Holly’s bracelet.  Maybe there was something he could do after all.  Harry moved over to Dudley and squatted down.  “Where’d you find the bracelet?” he asked quietly.  
          “Huh?” Dudley looked up, startled.  
          “The bracelet,” repeated Harry.  “Where’d you find it?”  
          “Uh, over there,” and Dudley pointed vaguely towards the cat before returning his head to his hands.  
          “Thanks,” said Harry.  He got up and walked over to Sasha.  
          Sasha was crouched on the ground; she looked up at Harry’s arrival.  Her green eyes watched him intently while her gray tail twitched back and forth restlessly.  Sasha’s mouth opened and shut in a soundless cry, a plea for help.  “We’re trying,” Harry told her.  “We’re doing everything we can.”  The cat continued to stare at Harry piteously.  “Have you found something of Holly’s?” Harry asked the cat.   
          In response, Sasha sat up.  Then she lifted one of her white booted paws up towards Harry in a pleading fashion.   
          Harry reached out beneath the paw and felt a strand of chameleon chain dangling from a claw.  “I’ve got it,” he told the cat after he had twisted the strand securely around his finger.  Sasha relaxed her claws letting the rest of the chain drop onto Harry’s fingers.  It was thin and strong, barely visible and then only if one knew what to look for.  Harry grasped the chain carefully and lifted it up.  Dangling from the end was a small gold key, Holly’s key to her vault at Gringotts.  Harry recognized it easily; it was the key and chain he had given Holly last fall.  If Harry had had any doubt (which he hadn’t) that a second curse had occurred this key would have resolved it.  The chain had both anti-theft and anti-loss spells that would have rendered finding it in the grass like this ... unthinkable.  “Thank you,” Harry told the cat gravely.  “I’ll make sure she gets it.”   If he ever saw her again…  Harry straightened and tucked the key and chain securely in one of his pockets.  
          Looking up, Harry saw Ron, Ginny and Laurel walk away from the tree.  He hurried to join them on the sidewalk.  
           “It’s another plaque all right,” began Ron.  “Ginny says it looks a lot like the one in the trophy room.  Apparently Vernon found it in the tree and was telling them about it when, uh, things happened.  Holly was in the grass over there,” Ron pointed towards the area where Sasha was sitting, “when she vanished.”  Harry nodded.  That made sense. It explained why the chain was in the grass at that location.  “They didn’t find out about Vernon until later…” continued Ron.  “How do you want us to proceed?”  
          How indeed!  Harry had no idea what to do next.  Last time Holly and Albus had blown out the plaque from the inside making their rescue possible.  But the plaque wasn’t blown out.  It hadn’t been when Harry first saw it last time either.  So what did that mean?   
          He supposed it would be best to start with the basics.  “May I see your Healthstone, please,” Harry inquired of Laurel.  Laurel nodded and immediately opened her hand to reveal the pendant with its silver chain hidden there.  The pendant shined a reassuring iridescence in the sunlight.  Harry breathed a sigh of relief.  “At least she’s O.K.,” he said quietly.  “The two should be together,” Harry added for Laurel’s benefit.  “I think we can assume Vernon is in good health as well.”  Laurel nodded with relief.  But knowing that didn’t get them home.   
          Harry closed his eyes and replayed the events of the last time.  The Hufflepuffs reported Holly missing around 11:00 pm and the children were both pulled out by 1:00 am—at which time the cursed room was already falling apart.  That gave the children a window of a little under two hours to get out.  Last time there had been some trouble with Holly blocking, but Holly knew how to block now so that shouldn’t be a problem.  Harry also knew Holly should have Lily’s wand.  Releasing Vernon from the chair and moving to the wall couldn’t take all that long…  Holly should have had enough time.  Maybe she still did and they just needed to wait a bit…  
           Harry opened is eyes and looked at Laurel.  “How long ago did Holly vanish?” he asked quietly.  
          “Uh,” Laurel looked at her watch. “An hour and a half ago, maybe two…” she replied.  
          Harry shuttered inwardly at the word “two.”  “Could you perhaps be more specific?” he insisted hoping the time was nearer the “hour and-a-half” than the “two.” He wondered where the Smiths lived and how long it took for Skyler to reach them…  
          “Maybe an hour and forty-five minutes?” replied Laurel splitting the difference.  
          Harry nodded accepting her uncertainty.  A more precise time didn’t matter anyway.  He fixed his attention on Ginny.  “It’s up to you,” he told her.  
          “Me?” protested Ginny faintly, her pale face whitening even more.   
          “You’re their only chance,” he told her.  
          “Maybe we should wait,” she began hopefully.  “Last time—”  
          “We’ve been waiting over an hour and a half,” informed Harry flatly.  Then he added thoughtfully, “Last time there were _two_ wizards and _two_ wands at work,” he reminded her.  “Now, I don’t know what the problem is, but they’d be out by now if they could do it.”  He paused to let his words sink in.  “I can’t do it,” he added.  “If I touch that plaque the whole room will reset which could kill them immediately.”  Not to mention all the other things likely to happen which Harry didn’t even want to think about.  “I suppose we could try to chip away and dig it out,” he said reviewing their other options out loud, “but if that were possible, and I don’t think it is, then I fear we would only remove the door, not open it.  We can blast the plaque from the outside,” he mused thoughtfully, “but I’m sure that will make the room totally collapse killing everyone in it.  Nothing happens when other people touch it,” Harry added.  “So it’s got to be you, Gin.”  
          “But I can’t rem—”  
          “Of course you can remember,” interrupted Harry confidently before Ginny could finish.  Laurel was standing next to them listening in; Dudley had joined the group as well, his hand still clutching the bracelet.  Harry didn’t want Laurel and Dudley scared more than they already were.  “The knowledge is all there inside you,” he assured Ginny softly.  “You just haven’t had the proper motivation before.  It’s Holly and Vernon!” Harry reminded her.  “They need you!  They’ll _die_ without your help!  What better motivation can there be?”  Harry walked over and put his arms comfortingly on Ginny’s shoulders.  “Now,” he said urging her forward, “let’s you and I get over to that tree and…”  
          “I’ll go with her to the tree!” interrupted Ron firmly while placing a restraining hand on Harry’s shoulder.  “You stay here!”  
          Harry stopped in place and blinked several times.  He knew he wasn’t supposed to go anywhere near that tree.  Had he merely forgotten in his desire to help or was something more sinister at play?  He didn’t know.  
          “I’ll go too,” said Hermione gently while moving up closer.  She had arrived earlier and had been listening to the conversation.  “We’ll get it open,” she told Harry confidently as she eased Ginny from his grasp.  The three then moved off towards the tree leaving Harry, Laurel and Dudley behind.

 

*********************

          Ginny Weasley reluctantly allowed Ron and Hermione to lead her to the tree.  There was nothing she wanted to do less than return to that tree and the _thing_ implanted on it.  Ginny had no idea what she intended to do once she got there, but Harry was right.  It had to be her if they had any chance to save the children.  Ginny longed for Harry to be there with her, to give her words of encouragement and support, but that wouldn’t happen either.  While waiting for Harry to return from his telephone call, Ron and Hermione had agreed Harry had to be kept away from the plaque at all costs.  The danger was simply too great.  
          Ginny’s steps faltered and slowed the closer she neared the tree.  “Don’t worry,” said Ron encouragingly.  “You can do it!”  
          “Of course you can!” confirmed Hermione firmly.  “Harry thinks you can do it,” she added sensing Ginny missed his presence, “and he is never wrong—at least not about You-Know-Who!”  
_“That’s true,”_ thought Ginny with a laugh thinking of all the other things Harry had been wrong about during their years together, but never when it came to Lord Voldemort.  The thought of the sinister shaped heart on the tree filled Ginny with nothing but dread.  She drew her wand and raised it uncertainly when she neared the heart.  What should she do next?  
          “A spell like this had to be done in at least two parts,” whispered Hermione sensing Ginny’s question.  “First the heart had to be made.  That’s when the curse was probably cast.  Then the heart was taken to its final destination and affixed to the desired location.  You might not have to break a spell or anything, maybe you just have to get it off the tree!”  
          “Like getting Mrs. Black off the wall?” commented Ron derisively.  “A lot of help that does.  Just point your wand and concentrate on what you need to do, sis,” suggested Ron.  “The wand was used to make the thing, maybe it’ll cough up whatever spell you need to undo it.”  
          “What?” snorted Hermione in disbelief.  
          “Well, it worked for Harry that time when we left his house, remember?” said Ron defensively referring to the desperate flight they had all made while using Polyjuice potion to help Harry escape the Death Eaters.  
          “That was _wand against wand!_ ” retorted Hermione, “and a totally different matter!”  
          Ginny smiled in spite of herself as she faced the silvery heart-shaped curse lodged prominently in the tree.  Their bickering had served to put Ginny more at ease in the situation.  But she needed to concentrate on the job at hand.  Ginny studied the heart.  It seemed to shine and sparkle even in the shade.  To Ginny, it looked like a blight, a wart that needed to be removed.  Hmm, wart removal?  Ginny wished she knew a wart removal hex to try but doubted it would work.   
          She was close enough to touch the heart.  Should she?  It gleamed invitingly.  Laurel said she had reached immediately when she saw the heart and touched it with no ill effect.  The heart did not call out to Ginny but maybe…  She reached out with her free hand and touched the edge.  Nothing happened.  She dug in with her fingernails and gave it a tug out and downward.  The heart remained fastened firmly in place giving no indication of moving.  Oh, well, it was an idea.   
          What else could she try?  Ginny placed her hand on the heart.  It was silky smooth and cold, not icy cold but a deep cold that seemed to freeze her very insides.  Ginny’s first instinct was to remove her hand, but she didn’t.  The touch brought about all sorts of unpleasant feelings, almost memories.  Ginny closed her eyes trying to focus on the feelings trying to find the memories that had to come with them…  
          “Whatever you are planning to do” called out Harry from behind her, “I suggest you hurry.  Holly’s Healthstone just turned!”  
          _No!_ Ginny lurched forward shaken by the news.  _“No!  I can’t let someone die because of me!”_ she thought in desperation, her eyes still closed.  _“Holly!  Vernon!  Hang on!”_ she pleaded in her mind while fighting the sudden wave of nausea that threatened to engulf her.  The hard smooth surface beneath her hand gave way to something feeling more like cold slimy ooze as if her hand was digging through a bowl of slugs.  
          “Hey,” said Ron in a surprised voice.  “Your hand!  It’s sunk into the plaque!  Whatever you’re doing, keep it up, sis!” he encouraged.  
          “Hurry!” shouted Laurel, her voice was filled with worry and distress.  
          Keeping her eyes closed, Ginny pushed aside the disdainful hatred suddenly flooding her mind and instead reached inside for herself—her mother’s concern—desperation for a child in need—two children—two she knew!  _“Hurry!”_ she told herself.  _“They need me now!”_ And she forced her fingers to move through the disgusting gooey sensations.  The goo felt thicker than the coldest treacle but Ginny persisted finally managing to close her fingers into a fist.  Then she pulled…  
          At first, nothing happened; it was as if she were trying to pull down the whole tree without success.  But Ginny didn’t think about that; she only thought about the two children who had to get out.  Then, little by little, she could feel her arm and fist draw back.  Ginny leaned back, putting her whole weight in her pull, all the while focusing her thoughts on Holly and Vernon—their green eyes so like Albus’—they could be her children in there; she couldn’t let them down.   
          Without warning, Ginny’s fist shot back taking her whole arm and body with it with such force that she flew backwards landing on the ground several meters from the tree!   
          A thick stream of dust poured out of the opening she had created but Ginny didn’t see that.  She didn’t hear Ron shout out in amazement, “She did it!”   
          Nor did she hear Harry’s swift response:  “Get the children out!  I’ll see to Ginny!”  
          Stunned, Ginny lay flat on her back trying to sort through the images and emotions that filled her mind.  When her senses returned, Ginny saw Harry’s worried face hovering over her.  He was cradling her head and shoulders in his arms.  
          “Are you O.K.?” he asked anxiously.  
          “Gringotts!” she whispered letting the twisted mass of metal she was clutching drop to the ground.  Pain shot though her arm and shoulder as she tried to straighten her fingers.  The force of the blast and fall had clearly wrenched things out of place.  
          “What?”  
          “I went to Gringotts!”  
          The grip on her shoulders tightened indicating he understood what she meant.  “We’ll worry about that later,” Harry told Ginny while pulling her to her feet.  She winced.  “You all right?” he asked with concern.  
          “I’ll manage,” Ginny said.  The pain in her arm was nothing compared to what the children must be going through.  “The children?” she asked anxiously.  
          “I don’t know,” he answered gravely.  “I haven’t heard any voices.”  
          “No!” Ginny whispered.  
          “It doesn’t mean they’re dead.  The Healthstone was dark not black,” he reminded her.  “It just means they may need some help getting out.”  The two moved back towards the tree while watching Ron and Hermione work at enlarging the hole in the tree trunk. Using their wands, they had carved a jagged circular section of trunk connected to but below the hole Ginny had made.  Ron put his arms in Ginny’s hole then carefully pushed the next section out.  Hermione caught the piece and set the curved bark shaped rim down on the ground nearby.  There was a loud crash from within the tree; more dusty air poured out.  
          “We’ve got to get it wider,” said Hermione.   
          “Right,” agreed Ron.  He pointed his wand again near the initial heart opening and started a horizontal slice to the left.  
          “Remember, we can’t cut past the diameter of the tree or the space shrinks,” reminded Hermione.  She moved to the side of the tree and started a vertical line insuring Ron wouldn’t cut too far in one direction.  
          “We haven’t discussed it yet,” Harry added as he and Ginny reached the tree, “but I’m going in to look for them.”  
          “You!”  
          “Yes,” he replied calmly.  “You may be able to keep me away from the tree while that _thing_ was there,” Harry twisted his head and nodded behind him at the blackened lump of metal lying innocently on the ground, “but not now.”  He pulled out his wand.  “The hole’ll get larger faster if we help,” he told Ginny.  Harry pulled out his wand.  Starting from the base of their previous cut, he began to carve a line out towards Hermione’s cut.  
          Ginny peered into the space they had carved so far.  The hole was slightly larger than her head.  The blackened rim of the trunk seemed only a couple centimeters in thickness the rest seemed hollow.  When she looked down, she couldn’t see a familiar tube like shape of the trunk between the puffs of dust, all she could see was an inky black more fitting of a cave entrance.  
          “Hello?” she called out hopefully.  There was no answer.  Instead, she heard the resounding crash of something from within falling.  More dust puffed out.  Ginny reached into the hole with her wand.  _“Lumnos!”_ she said.  The wand lit up like a candle.  Looking in, Ginny could just barely see the interior of a room through the haze of dust.  It was filled with huge blocks of stone; several stacked crookedly on top of each other.  She didn’t see Holly or Vernon.  As she looked, a huge stone block came down with a loud crash sending out a new cloud of dust.  Ginny pulled her wand out.  Harry and Ron reached in, grabbed the bark edge and pulled out another piece of trunk.  “I think I can fit in there,” Ginny announced suddenly.  
          “No,” said Harry flatly.  “It’s too dangerous!”  
          “No more dangerous for me than you!” Ginny protested.  “I’m smaller; I can get in now and time is of the essence.”   
          “You’re injured,” he told her.  
          “Not that bad,” replied Ginny ignoring the pain in her shoulder.  “I’ve got to do this, Harry,” she continued before he could say anything.  “I _need_ to do this,” she added grabbing his arm with her good hand and looking into his eyes trying to convey the urgency she felt.  _“Please!”_  
          Harry looked back studying her face intently.  Then he nodded.  “All right,” he said stowing his wand.  “But be careful.”   
          “I will,” she replied.   
          “Ron,” he said.  Both Ron and Hermione stopped what they were doing and looked at Harry.  “Help me get Ginny up,” he told Ron.  “She’s going inside.  She’s smaller than the rest of us,” Harry added before Ron could say anything.   
          Ron nodded without comment.  He stowed his wand and immediately went over to Ginny’s side.  Ginny pocketed her wand.  Ron and Harry lifted Ginny up and Hermione helped Ginny get her feet into the hole.  They lowered her carefully down until she could sit on the bark edge, her knees and legs inside.  The hole was a tight squeeze, tighter than Ginny expected.  “Uh, while I’m getting the children,” she began tentatively, “perhaps you could keep on making the hole wider so it’ll be easier getting them out.  
          “An excellent idea,” agreed Harry nodding.  “You sure you can make it?”  
          “I’ll make it,” replied Ginny determinedly.  Squirming forward centimeter by centimeter, Ginny pushed her hips over the bark rim.  Then keeping her bad arm close to her side, she raised her other arm over her head so it would take less space and slid the rest of the way into the hole.

 

*********************

          Laurel Wycliff watched in disbelief as Ginny Potter’s head disappeared down the tree.  Granted, she was a bit skinnier than the width of the tree so in theory she could fit inside the tree, but one just didn’t slide into a tree. You couldn’t!  But that was what it looked like Ginny had done.  And that just wasn’t possible was it?  
          The day had been full of impossibilities:  Holly disappearance right before her eyes; the swift arrival of the Potters and their friends; a perfectly healthy tree that spewed brown dust from its trunk; even the dense fog that circled them like a wall with the sun shining down overhead.  And Harry Potter had seemed so nice!  No wonder Dillon was always uncomfortable around Harry if he had had to grow up with stuff like this every day!  It all gave her the creeps too.  But then Laurel reminded herself that they were only here because she had asked them to come and they were looking for her children.  That had to count for something.   
          Speaking of which, Laurel anxiously checked her Healthstone again.  Her heart had nearly stopped the last time she had looked when she saw it suddenly go from shiny iridescence to dark purple!  Harry must have noticed the changed expression on her face because he had called out telling Ginny to hurry without even bothering to check the Healthstone for himself.  This time, the Healthstone was still that hideous dark purple colour.  Any darker and she would have to call the colour black!  No one mentioned what would happen if it turned all the way black but Laurel had a pretty good idea.    
            Laurel moved cautiously up to the tree. On one side, Laurel could see the rough bark that made the back of the tree trunk. On the other side stood Harry and his friends.  They were busy making the hole Ginny had gone through even larger.  The wands they used looked like plain sticks!  How could sticks cut wood like that?  Hermione removed a segment of the trunk making the hole larger.  The piece in her hand looked thin, almost like an eggshell!  The removal meant Laurel could just barely see the actual tree hole by looking between their bodies.  When the dust cleared and she looked inside, there was no back wall, only blackness within!  That had to be a trick of light!  For how could there be no back to a tree that plainly had one she had seen from the other side?  
          Suddenly a shout sounded from within the tree.  Everyone stopped their work on the tree and hovered over the hole.  “What?  What is it?” asked Laurel urgently moving up close behind them.  She had been too far away to actually understand the words.  
          “She’s found them!” said Hermione.  
          “They’re alive!” came Ginny’s voice from within.  The voice sounded far and distant but even Laurel understood it and felt a surge of relief flood though her body.  
          “Um, you’ll have to step back now, Mrs. Wycliff,” said Hermione.  “We’ll need space to get them out.”  
_“Get them out?”_   thought Laurel in disbelief.  _“There’s barely enough space for Ginny inside that tree trunk let alone Vernon and Holly!”_ but she obediently stepped away from the tree and waited to see what would happen next.  
          Laurel sensed rather than saw movement nearby.  She turned and saw that Dillon had come to stand besides her.  His face was very pale and he still held Holly’s bracelet clutched tightly in one hand.  “It’s going to be all right!” she found herself reassuring him—not that she really knew things would be all right.  But Dillon didn’t respond.  She wasn’t even sure he had heard her.  
           “A little more to the left!” Laurel turned at the sound.  Harry Potter had his head poked into the hole and was talking loudly.  “No, my left not yours!” he corrected.  Laurel watched as he poked his arms and upper body into the hole as well.  “Got ‘im!” he said with satisfaction.  “Ron, help me out!”  Ron stowed his wand and put his arms around Harry’s waist and pulled backwards.  Harry’s upper body slowly came out of the tree hole.  Held firmly in each hand was a wrist!  “Mind the head,” said Harry as he backed up pulling the wrists.  Hermione reached into the hole with both her hands.   
           As Harry continued to pull, Hermione’s hands came into view.  Hermione’s hands and arms obscured the head she held but the blond hair was frighteningly familiar as was the clothing that covered the arms... Vernon!!!!  Laurel’s heart leaped into her throat.  Despite what Harry and Ginny had implied, she hadn’t really believed that Vernon and Holly were somewhere inside the tree.  Yet here Harry was apparently pulling Vernon out of the side of the tree trunk like a magician pulled scarves out of a sleeve!  As the upper body came into view, Ron grabbed Vernon under the armpits and continued pulling.  
           Hermione released Vernon’s head letting his chin fall limply on his chest.  “O.K.!” Hermione shouted into the hole.  “We’ve got him!  Get Holly!”  
          “Careful,” said Harry still walking backwards.  “He probably has some broken ribs!”  
          “Right,” replied Ron.  
_“Broken ribs!!!”_ thought Laurel in panic _!  “What had happened to Vernon?!!!”_     
          “I’ve got him now,” assured Ron and Harry released the wrists.  Ron shifted his grip lifting Vernon’s body up and continued to pull.  
          A loud crash sounded from within the tree and more dust poured out. Harry wrapped his arms around Vernon’s waist, which had just emerged from the hole.  They continued to move backwards.  When Vernon’s knees appeared, Harry shifted his grip to hold them up as they kept pulling Vernon out.   
          As soon as Vernon’s feet left the hole, Hermione poked her head into the hole.  “Higher!” Laurel heard her say while Harry and Ron carried Vernon over to the lawn well away from the tree.   The two set Vernon down gently and then returned to the tree.  Laurel and Dillon hurried over to Vernon’s side and knelt down anxiously.  Vernon was covered with dust from head to toe.  He coughed weakly.  Beneath the dirt Vernon’s face was a pasty white and his cheeks appeared sunken.    
          “Vernon?” said Laurel while softly touching his cheek.  
          Vernon turned his head at the sound.  He opened his green eyes and stared vacantly out in her direction.  Then his face lit up as if suddenly recognizing her.  “Hey!” he said in a gravelly voice.  “Got any water?”  
          Laurel thought quickly.  “Um yes, I believe we do, uh, in the car.  Would you like me to get it?”  
          Vernon smiled.  “Yeah,” he croaked.  Then Vernon closed his eyes and his head rolled to the side as if speaking had been too much effort for him.  
          Laurel hurried to the car and opened the door.  Digging around quickly she found a water bottle and pulled it out.  Then she hastily returned to Vernon.  When she got there, Dillon was on the ground next to Vernon.  One hand was still clutching Holly’s bracelet, the other was holding Vernon’s hand tightly.  Vernon’s hand looked unnaturally blue against Dillon’s skin.  
          Laurel’s fingers trembled as she struggled to quickly unscrew the cap to the water bottle.  “Here,” she told Vernon while lifting his head so he could drink.  Laurel held the bottle opening to his lips and poured the first few drops into his open mouth.  With his eyes closed, Vernon started drinking thirstily, then his lips took the whole bottle opening into his mouth and he sucked eagerly.  He didn’t stop until the bottle was empty.  “Thanks,” he said with a satisfied smile after releasing the bottle.   
          Then Vernon rolled his head to look at Dillon.  “Sorry, dad,” he told Dillon in a less scratchy voice.  “I messed up!  Touchin’ things I shouldn’t touch…”  
          “No!  Vernon, no!” replied Dillon huskily.  “It’s not your fault, it was mine!  I shouldn’t have brought you here—shouldn’t have tried to come back home…”  
          “Easy now!” came the voice of Ron nearby.  Laurel looked up and saw Ron and Harry had come over.  They had Holly in their arms and proceeded to lay her down next to Vernon.  Sasha immediately jumped onto Holly’s chest purring loudly.  
          “Careful,” Harry told the cat.  “She’s hurt and we don’t know where!”  The cat leaped off Holly’s chest and moved up to Holly’s ear.  She crouched down low and rubbed her face on Holly’s cheek anxiously.  
          If possible, Holly looked worse than Vernon.  Totally covered in dust, Holly’s pale face was offset by bright red blood that flowed freely from a cut on her head mingling with the dirt, streaming down her cheek and dripping onto the grass.  Sasha started licking the blood off Holly’s face while still purring loudly but Holly was still, ever so still.   
          “Oh, Holly!” exclaimed Laurel with concern bending over her.  
          “Th’ stones fell on us,” said Vernon explaining while he looked at her.  “I hope she’ll be O.K.”  
          “Of course she will,” said Hermione confidently.  She had walked over to the group and had heard his words.  “And you will be too!  Just as soon as we get you to hospital,” she told him.  “Which should be any time now…”  She looked significantly back at the tree and Laurel followed her glance.  Harry was in the process of pulling Ginny out of the tree.  Ron was standing by to help if needed.  When Ginny was all the way out, the three started walking towards Laurel.   
          Harry was brushing the dust off Ginny when suddenly a loud crack sounded.  They stopped and everyone turned to look at the source.  Another crack sounded and Laurel saw that the tree seemed to be bending at the center, where the hole was…  Of course!  What remained after they had chipped segments out of the trunk was not nearly strong enough to support the rest of the weight of the tree!  It was falling!  
          “Don’t let it land on the street!” shouted Harry as he headed swiftly to the street side of the tree.  Numbly Laurel watched Ron and Ginny follow after him, all three with their wands extended.  _“Finite!”_ Harry shouted pointing his wand and the tree seemed to waver precariously in place.   
_“Expulso!”_ shouted Ron waving his wand and suddenly the whole tree seemed to explode outward and up scattering chunks of wood, branches, and leaves everywhere!  
_“Protego!”_ shouted Hermione in Laurel’s ear as Laurel saw tree pieces overhead coming straight at them!   Laurel scarce had time to bend down covering Holly’s head with her body before a shower of leaves, twigs, branches and bark descended.  The noise was deafening.  Then there was total silence.  
          “Is everyone all right?” called out Harry from the other side of the debris.  
          “We’re fine,” replied Hermione loudly.  And indeed, when Laurel looked around, she saw that five of them seemed to be within a circular area totally free of debris!   Thick mounds of tree parts surrounded them, however.  Thinking about it, Laurel realized none of the falling debris from overhead had actually landed on them!  
_“Diffendo!”_ came Harry’s voice and Laurel saw several branches seem to move on their own making a path through which Harry, Ron and Ginny came.  
          “Are you out of your mind!” said Hermione angrily when they drew near.  The three stopped and stared at Hermione.  _“Expulso!”_ Hermione added.  “You don’t use _Expulso_ on a tree!  You could have gotten us killed!”  
          Ron’s jaw dropped slackly.  “But it worked!” he protested.  “And none of the tree got in the street!”  
          “And what about us?” accused Hermione darkly.  
          “Well, I knew you’d take care of things…” Ron concluded lamely looking around surveying the remains of the tree.  “Besides, the mess will be easier to clean up now…”  He had that sheepish kind of look on his face that Laurel had often seen on Dillon when he had done something stupid.  Hermione glared at Ron and he looked away appearing distinctly uncomfortable.  “Uh,” he began looking about uncertainly.  “Holly needs to get to hospital,” he said in a rush while kneeling down and scooping her up in his arms.  “I’ll see you later!” and he vanished with a loud distinctive _“crack!”_  
_“Yeowl!!!”_ The anguished cry came from Sasha who had not managed to accompany Ron and Holly in their swift departure.  
          Ginny reached out and picked up Sasha.  “Poor thing,” she told Sasha cradling the cat in her arms.  “I need to take you to Holly.  Besides,” she added looking up at the group.  “My shoulder needs to be checked.”  And she vanished with a loud _“crack!”_  
          Harry looked uncomfortably at Laurel and Dillon before he bent down and picked up Vernon.  “I really should be getting Vernon to hospital too,” he said in an apologetic way.  Dillon reluctantly released his grip on Vernon’s hand and stepped back.  “And I have to explain things to the people there.  Uh, Hermione,” Harry added, “would you mind?”  
          Hermione was still fiercely glaring.  After a moment, her expression softened as if realizing she had no one left at which to glare and she gave an exaggeratedly loud sigh.  “Oh, all right!” she said.  “I’ll take care of things here.”  
          Harry looked down at Vernon who was watching everyone and listening intently.  “We’re going to the hospital now,” he told Vernon.  “I need you to close your eyes first.  Will you do that?” Vernon nodded.  “Good,” said Harry soothingly.  “Now, don’t be afraid.  Everything’s going to be O.K.  Ready?” he asked.  Vernon nodded and closed his eyes.  Then Harry vanished with a loud _“crack!”_  
          Hermione tucked her wand out of sight. “Uh, have you a piece of paper and a pen I can borrow, Mrs. Wycliff?” she asked politely as she brushed a strand of long wavy hair out of her face.   
          “What?” asked Laurel, surprised by the question.  “I should.  Do you need some?”   
          “Please.”  
          Laurel went over to her purse, which had been left on the ground during all the activities and was now covered by fresh greenery.  She brushed off the leaves, twigs and bark, opened it, and fished out a pen and a scrap of paper.  She brought them to Hermione.  
          “Thank you,” said Hermione.  She balanced the paper in one hand and held the pen with the other.  “Now, I know you are probably worried about your children, but you needn’t be,” Heromine told them as she started writing something on the paper, “because they are receiving the very best care possible.  This,” she said handing the paper and pen back to Laurel, “is the address of the hospital where they’re at.”  Laurel looked at the paper blankly while Hermione talked.  “Have you a map of London?” Hermione asked.  “Good,” she said when she saw Laurel nod.  “I’ll be waiting for you outside at the street because there’s no sign.  Um, I suggest you leave now before the fog thins,” she added thoughtfully while looking around.  “When people see this mess there are going to be a lot of questions and I don’t think you want to be around to try and answer them.”  
          Laurel nodded in agreement.  No, she didn’t want to try to explain any of this to anyone!  “Come on, Dillon,” she told her husband, who was standing stiffly nearby, still clutching Holly’s bracelet, his other hand still raised from when he had released his grip on Vernon.  “Let’s get to the hospital.”  Laurel took Dillon firmly by the wrist and dragged him to the car.  “Uh, thank you,” she said to Hermione as an afterthought while she opened the car door for Dillon and urged him in.  “Thank you for everything,” she said as she hurried around to her side of the car.  Hermione nodded and watched while Laurel got in the car and shut the door.   
          To Laurel’s intense relief, Dillon managed to start the car.  She had been afraid Dillon’s stunned inactivity would continue despite the absence of Harry and his friends.  Dillon eased the car away from the curb and headed it forward while still holding onto Holly’s bracelet.  He slowly drove the two through the thick fog.  Looking back, Laurel saw Hermione’s figure, a misty outline with wavy hair and long black robe standing still on the sidewalk; her wand was again extended in one hand.  Abruptly the car passed through the fog and the sun shone brightly all around. 


	26. Chapter 26

          Harry Potter arrived outside the Purge and Dowse Ltd. Building.  Vernon gave a shutter and a soft moan.  “How are you doing?” Harry asked with concern looking down at Vernon.  Apparating was always an uncomfortable sensation, worse the first time.  Harry couldn’t imagine what it must feel like Apparating with the broken bones he knew Vernon must have.  Vernon opened his green eyes and looked at Harry.  “That was the worst of it,” Harry reassured Vernon as he walked up to the window display to face a female dummy on the other side.   
          Vernon turned his head and looked about curiously.  “Where are we?” he asked in a scratchy voice.  
          “London,” replied Harry calmly.  He looked up at the female dummy and spoke.  “I’ve a Muggle patient…”   For what seemed like a very long time the dummy remained motionless.  Then the dummy face nodded and beckoned with her jointed finger.  “Just one more thing to do,” Harry told Vernon.  Vernon looked up curiously at Harry waiting for Harry to continue and Harry stepped through the glass.  
          Instead of the usual reception area, Harry was relieved to find he was in the very sedate, very ordinary looking Muggle ward of St Mongols.  With the exception of Harry and Vernon, the ward seemed absolutely empty of people.  Harry walked to one of the rooms, and laid Vernon gently down on the bed within.  “It won’t be long now,” he told Vernon while adjusting a pillow under his head.  Then Harry pulled up the nearby chair and sat down.  Sitting there, Harry could remember the last time he had visited the Muggle ward.  That time he had sat next to a cousin he had never before known existed.  So many things had happened since then.  
          “You really die?” asked Vernon suddenly, his voice rough and scratchy.  
          “What?” said Harry startled out of his own thoughts.   
          “Holly said you died,” explained Vernon.  “So did you?”  
          “Why yes,” replied Harry thoughtfully, “I supposed I did, especially if that’s what Holly said.  But I’m, um, afraid I don’t really remember it…”  Harry’s voice died as he tried to imagine a world in which he had died.  The thought was too distressing; it meant all those he loved would have probably died too.  
          “There you are!” Harry looked up and saw a short dark skinned man walk into the room carrying what appeared to be a traditional physician’s black medical bag—Healer Winonan.  Healer Winonan had short white curly hair, a bushy white eyebrows and white beard.  He had removed his usual lime green robe with an embroidered emblem of a crossed wand and bone and was wearing a blue and red plaid shirt, bright turquoise and magenta striped pants with flowered fuchsia coloured suspenders, orange polka dotted red socks and lime green shoes.  “They said someone was waiting for me here,” he said to Harry, who had stood up to greet him.  “Would that be you?”  
          “Uh, no,” replied Harry wondering at the question.  Winonan surely knew which person was the patient.  
          “Oh, then it must be you!” he said turning to Vernon.  “Hello, there,” he said pleasantly with a smile.  “I am Doctor Winonan.  What is your name?”  
          “V-Vernon,” replied Vernon in his scratchy voice.  
          “Vernon, eh?  That’s a nice name.  Are you sick?”  Vernon shook his head.  Winonan smiled reassuringly.  “That’s good,” he said, “because you don’t look sick to me at all!  However,” he sighed, “as long as I am here, I suppose I should check you out.”  He set his bag on the ground next to Harry’s chair.  Then he bent over and peered closely into Vernon’s green eyes.  “Hmmm,” he said thoughtfully.  “They look fine to me,” he observed.  “What do you think?” he asked Harry.   
          “Fine I guess,” replied Harry not knowing quite how to respond.   
          “That’s good enough for me!” said Winonan with satisfaction.  “Those eyes look familiar somehow,” he mused as he reached out and touched Vernon’s cheek gently pressing his finger in firmly and watching the indentation he made spring back to place.  “Are you by any chance related to a young girl with green eyes I just treated a few minutes ago?”   
          Vernon nodded anxiously.  “She’s my sister,” he replied in that scratchy voice.   
          “I expect you’re a bit worried about her are you?”  Vernon nodded again.  “Well, no need,” Winonan assured Vernon.  “She’s going to be fine—just like you!”  Harry gave an involuntary sigh of relief.  He had been rather worried despite their assurances to Laurel and Dillon; Holly had been so pale and still when they pulled her out of the tree.  
          “What happened to your shoes?” Winonan asked next as his eyes surveyed Vernon’s body.  
          “Lost them,” replied Vernon succinctly not explaining further.  
          “Well, as long as your shoes are already off, may I look at your toes?”  
          Vernon shrugged and lifted a foot.  Winonan took the foot in hand and gently removed the dusty sock placing it carefully on the small table at the foot of the bed.  “Can you move your toes?” asked Winonan curiously.  Vernon wiggled his toes obligingly.  Winonan then bent over and carefully counted each toe touching it as he counted.  “Yes,” Winonan concluded in a cheerful voice when he had finished.  “They’re all there!  They look a little purple, though,” commented Winonan calmly added as he bent down and opened his medical bag.  “Have you been sitting a while?”  Vernon’s whole body tensed up at the question.  “How long?” Winonan inquired curiously taking Vernon’s silence for confirmation.  
          “A while,” replied Vernon vaguely clearly not wanting to talk about it further.   
          “Oh,” replied Winonan casually not pushing for more specifics.  “Just curious,” he added turning his attention to his bag.  Harry could see Winonan’s wand plainly within the opened black bag. It rested in a narrow compartment on the inside rim of the bag.  Beyond that, the interior of the bag looked like a black empty hole much like the one they had just pulled Holly and Vernon from.  Winonan’s hand passed over the wand reaching further into the bag.  He rummaged around a bit before drawing out a shiny item that looked like an oversized stethoscope.  Placing one end in his ears, Winonan put the round flat part directly on Vernon’s stomach and listened intently.  “Hmmm,” he said after a moment.  “No heartbeat.  You sure you’re alive?”  
          Vernon relaxed a bit.  “Yeah,” he replied in his scratchy voice.  
          Winonan placed stethoscope on Vernon’s neck and listened intently.  “Still no heart,” he told Vernon with a disappointed look. Vernon smiled.  Next, Winonan placed the stethoscope on Vernon’s arm and then on the top of Vernon’s head.  Finally Winonan placed the stethoscope on Vernon’s chest over his heart.  “Ah-ha!” announced Winonan happily.  “Found it!”  And he listened to Vernon’s heart intently for a while.  “Yes,” he concluded while straightening, “your heart’s definitely there.  That’s a big relief.”  Vernon grinned.   
            “Now I suppose I should listen to you breathe,” said Winonan.  He put the stethoscope over but not touching Vernon’s mouth.  “Take a deep breath,” he told Vernon.  Vernon’s eyes twinkled merrily as he obligingly opened his mouth and breathed in.  The effort made Vernon wince visibly.  “Oops, sorry,” apologized Healer Winonan quickly removing his stethoscope and looking at it in confusion.  “Did that hurt?”  Vernon nodded.  “Where?”  Vernon pointed to a spot on his side.  “Does it hurt someplace else?” Winonan asked touching the tender spot gently.  Vernon nodded pointing to a spot nearby and then to two on his other side.  “That’s too bad,” said Winonan sympathetically.  “We’ll have to do something about that.”    
           Winonan put the stethoscope in his pocket, bent down and reached into his medical bag.  He pulled out a small clear empty bottle with a cork in the top.  “Could you hold this for me?” he asked handing it to Vernon.  Winonan looked closely at Vernon’s hand as the boy’s fingers closed around the bottle then Winonan bent back down to his bag.  After rummaging around a bit he brought up a pink bottle.  “Nope!” he said looking at it.  “Wrong colour!”  Winonan returned the bottle to the bag and brought out a blue one.  “That’s better,” he said uncorking the bottle.  “Could you uncork that for me?” he asked.  Vernon nodded.  Winonan watched intently as Vernon’s fingers gripped the cork.  His hand twisted and then gave a tug pulling the cork off.   
          “Thank you,” said Winonan collecting the opened bottle and the cork.  Grasping the clear bottle with one hand Winonan poured some of the contents of the blue bottle into it.  Winonan returned the clear bottle to Vernon while he re-corked the blue bottle and returned it to his bag. Vernon examined the contents of the clear bottle curiously.  The liquid was a transparent light blue with a syrupy looking consistency.   
           Next, Winonan brought out a smaller bottle with red stuff inside.  “This one is for that scratchy throat of yours,” he told Vernon conversationally while he uncorked the bottle.  “You look like a smart lad,” began Winonan.  “I’ve a question for you,” he said to Vernon.  Vernon looked up at Healer Winonan.  “What happens when you mix blue with red?”   
           “Purple!” replied Vernon after a moment of thought.  
          “Exactly!” said Winonan and he took the bottle from Vernon’s hand and poured some of the red potion into it.  He carefully corked the clear bottle and handed it back to Vernon pausing a moment to look closely at Vernon’s fingertips before releasing the bottle to Vernon.  “Give it a shake,” he instructed.  Vernon shook the bottle and immediately the contents turned a deep purple!  Vernon smiled in satisfaction.   
          “Keep shaking while I fetch one more thing,” instructed Winonan as he again dug into his medical bag.  Vernon obediently continued to shake.  As he shook, the contents started to pale tuning to a light lavender colour!  Vernon stared at the potion in amazement.  Winonan brought out a brown bottle. “Oh, my!” he said in mock surprise looking at the lavender coloured potion in the bottle.  “That’s too pale!  Let’s darken it up a bit!”  Winonan uncorked the brown bottle he held and handed it and the cork to Harry to hold.  Then he took the clear bottle from Vernon and uncorked it.  Retrieving the brown bottle, Winonan poured some of the contents into the lavender mix.  The potion in the brown bottle had a shiny yellow colour.  “What colour do you think it will be now?” Winonan asked Vernon while he re-corked the clear bottle.  Vernon shook his head clearly not knowing what to expect.  “Why don’t you give it a shake?” Winonan suggested while he re-corked the brown bottle.  While Vernon shook the clear bottle, Winonan he returned the brown bottle to his bag. The potion turned a maroon colour!   
          Winonan straightened while holding a medium sized spoon in his hand and watched until Vernon quit shaking the bottle.  “Hmmm,” he said studying the potion in the bottle.  “Not the prettiest of colours,” he concluded, “but it’s what it does, not how it looks that is important.  May I?” he asked and Vernon returned the bottle.  Winonan uncorked it and held the opening up to his nose.  “Smells about right though,” he decided out loud.  “One swallow should do,” he told Vernon as he poured some maroon potion into the spoon.  “Think you can manage that?”    
          Vernon eyed the stuff in the spoon apprehensively.  He looked at Harry questioningly; Harry smiled reassuringly.  Vernon looked back at Winonan and then nodded hesitantly.  “I wonder what “maroon” tastes like,” said Winonan speculatively while he held the filled spoon expectantly in front of Vernon’s lips. Vernon closed his eyes, took a deep breath and opened his mouth.  Winonan placed the spoon and its contents firmly in the opened mouth dripping the stuff down Vernon’s throat.   
           Vernon’s eyes bulged as he choked and swallowed.  Suddenly his eyes popped open.  “Peppermint!” Vernon sputtered with surprise grabbing the spoon from Winonan and licking the surface clean.  “Can I have more?”  Vernon’s voice was no longer rough and scratchy; it sounded normal again.   
           “Well,” hesitated Winonan, “I supposed one more spoonful wouldn’t hurt…”  Winonan filled the spoon again and gave it to Vernon. Vernon swallowed quickly and then returned the spoon with a smile.  “Are you thirsty?” asked Winonan while he re-corked the bottle.  
          “Yes, sir,” replied Vernon in a firm voice.  Winonan returned the bottle and spoon to the bag.  Harry saw a satisfied smile on Winonan’s face leading him to suspect the intended dose had been two spoonfuls all along…  
          “Well, then, we’ll have to get you something to drink,” replied Winonan picking up his wand.  Harry saw a brief flash of light before Winonan tucked his wand carefully in his sleeve.  Then he brought out an opened liter sized bottle filled with water and had a long green spiraling straw sticking out of it.  “Water’s the best thing when you’re feeling thirsty,” Winonan told Vernon. “You may drink as much as you like,” he said handing the bottle to Vernon.   
          “Thank you,” said Vernon cradling the bottle in his hands.  He placed his lips to the straw, closed his eyes and started sucking happily.   
          “If you don’t mind,” Winonan added, “I’ll just step outside to have a word or two with Mr. Potter while you’re drinking.”  Vernon nodded while he continued to drink contentedly.

********************

          Harry Potter followed Healer Winonan.  They stopped just outside the door to Vernon’s room.  Winonan brought out his wand.  _“Muffeliato!”_ he said while waiving the wand insuring they could not be overheard.  
          “Thank you for all your help,” began Harry glad Winonan had been available when they arrived.  
           Healer Winonan tilted his head in acknowledgment.  “Mr. Weasley gave me to understand that the children were trapped in a cursed room for about two hours,” began Healer Winonan in a low voice.  “Is that correct?”  
          Harry blinked in surprise at the question.  “Uh, yes, I guess,” he replied thinking of what Laurel had said and counting back the time.  “Why?”  
          “Because that is not what the evidence suggests!”  
          “What do you mean?”  
          “Well, besides the broken bones and bruises, Holly’s body shows signs of serious exhaustion!”  
          “Oh?”  
          “And the boy,” began Winonan, “You heard his voice!  That is not likely to become so rough after a mere two hours!  In addition, Vernon is extremely dehydrated, his extremities show signs of severe blood deprivation—loss of circulation and there are no solids in his stomach!  All of that would take considerable time to develop—at least 24 hours if not longer for the stomach!  So I’ll ask again—How long were they imprisoned?”  
          Harry reflected swiftly on what he knew of the curse.  If it worked the same way as last time, and Harry suspected it did given the question Vernon had asked him, then Vernon would have found the plaque in the tree, touched it and entered the room thus initiating the curse.  He would have been tied in a chair and forced to wait until Holly’s arrival and rescue.   
           Albus never gave specifics on how long he sat in that chair, but it must have been several hours.  Last time, Holly had been asleep in her dorm when the curse began.  It took all night and most of the morning for her to make her way to the trophy room, touch the plaque and rescue Albus.  But this time, Holly was on the lawn nearby when it happened.  She knew how to break the curse and was already prepared with Lily’s wand.  It should have been a simple matter for Holly to walk over to the tree, touch the plaque, enter the room and rescue Vernon.  How long could that have taken?  A few minutes?  An hour at most?  That implied a total of three hours Vernon would have had to sit bound in the chair.  Yet Winonan said the evidence indicated a much longer time.  Harry shook his head in confusion.  “I, uh, don’t really know how long Vernon was in the room,” he confessed reluctantly.  “You’ll have to ask Holly.”  
          “Very well,” said Winonan disappointedly.  “We’ll do that when she wakens.  In the meantime, I think I will go with the evidence and give Vernon a second dose of ROUND-ABOUT for his circulation.”  
          Harry nodded.  “You know best,” he agreed.  “How is Holly, really?” he asked with concern changing the subject.  
          “Well, the cracked skull, punctured lung and broken bones were pretty severe.  That, along with the internal damages could have been fatal if not treated promptly, but you got her to us in time so she’ll be fine, physically.  I can’t attest to her mental state until I’ve had a chance to talk with her.”  
          A sudden “thud” sounded from within the room disrupting further conversation.  “I think we had best check on Vernon, now,” said Healer Winonan calmly and he went back into the room.  Harry followed.  Vernon was fast asleep with a faint smile on his lips.  The water bottle had fallen out of his hands and landed on the floor.  “I gave him some sleeping potion with his water,” Healer Winonan explained as he bent down and picked up the water bottle.  “He needs his rest and _we_ need to get him cleaned up.”   
          Indeed, besides all the dirt, Vernon clearly stank of sweat, urine and feces, something Harry hadn’t noticed before but now the odors seemed all the more obvious after having been away from Vernon a while.  The curse had definitely been no three-hour event.  Harry hoped he could find a chance to talk with Holly privately to find out what really happened.   
          “I presume his parents will be visiting?” asked Healer Winonan interrupting Harry’s thoughts.   
          “Um, yes,” replied Harry thinking quickly.  He wasn’t too sure about Dudley, but was positive nothing would keep Laurel away.  
          “Then I’ll see that Holly gets moved next to Vernon and place the Muggle Ward in quarantine to insure they won’t be disturbed.”  
          “Thank-you.”  
          “I need to finish up here,” said Healer Winonan reaching again into his physician’s bag.  “Why don’t you check with the front desk to make sure they are prepared for Muggle visitors.”  
          “I’ll do that,” said Harry.  “Thank you again.”  And Harry headed over to the front desk.

********************

          Laurel Wycliff knew she’d never forget that ride from Little Winging to London.  Dillon drove like a man possessed never saying a word all the while still clutching Holly’s bracelet.  Laurel tried talking to Dillon as they drove but he never answered—he just kept on pushing his foot down on the accelerator.  She wasn’t sure why they never crashed or were stopped for speeding but somehow they weren’t.  They made it to London in record time; that’s when Dillon finally slowed down long enough for Laurel to give directions.  She had pulled out their map of London and located the street mentioned on Hermione’s address.   
          When they reached the correct street, Laurel was certain Hermione had played a cruel joke on them.  The whole neighborhood was desolate and abandoned.  It looked like an old warehouse district—in dire need of renovations.  Laurel had no idea such places even existed within London.  
          Only a few people roamed the sidewalks and they looked like homeless vagrants!  Laurel was about to tell Dillon to give it up and return to their home where she could dig out the book Harry had given her and find out exactly where they had whisked their children to when she realized one of the “vagrants” leaning against an abandoned storefront window, her face partially hidden by the newspaper in hand, looked familiar.  Hermione!  “Over there!” Laurel said excitedly to Dillon pointing to Hermione.  Dillon pulled his auto to the curb stopping it right next to a “No Parking” sign.  
          Laurel rolled down her window as Hermione put away the newspaper she was reading and moved up to the auto. She no longer wore that imposing black robe but looked rather ordinary in faded blue jeans and a t-shirt.  “Place this on your dash,” Hermione told them handing Laurel a piece of official looking paper.  “Turn right on the next block and park your auto on the curb.  I’ll meet you there.”  Without waiting for a response, Hermione started walking down the sidewalk towards the block where she had directed them to park.   
          While Dillon moved the auto around the block, Laurel looked at the paper in her hand.   It read “Parking Permit.”  The side street looked just as abandoned as the first street.  Dillon parked and Laurel put the paper on the dash before getting out.  She saw Hermione moving swiftly towards them.  They had left Little Winging before her, how had Hermione gotten here first?  How had any of them for that matter, if this was where they truly were?  But Laurel didn’t stop to puzzle it out.  She only wanted to see her children again.  
          “In here,” said Hermione drawing their attention to two solid metal doors with a thick rusty chain and heavy padlock attached.  
          _“Who padlocks a hospital?”_ thought Laurel as she watched Hermione draw out a huge old-fashioned key and unlock the padlock.  
          The chain fell free and swung down striking the door with a loud “clank.”  Hermione grabbed the door handle and gave a hefty tug. Creaking and groaning every millimeter of the way, the door was slowly forced opened.  Hermione turned as she pulled.  “Come on!” she said to Laurel and Dillon when there was enough space to fit through.  Hermione stepped back inviting them inside.  
          The entry looked rather dark and forbidding especially compared to the brilliance of the sunlit day.  Laurel took a step forward and then, sensing rather than seeing Dillon’s hesitation, she turned and grabbed Dillon firmly by the arm and pulled him inside with her.  Despite whatever fears he had, Laurel knew Dillon would never forgive himself if he didn’t come with her now to see his children.  Hermione stepped in behind them and Laurel heard the door slam shut with an ominous “Bang.”

********************

          “Follow me,” said Hermione calmly as she moved to the front leading the way.  “Your children are in the last room down the hall,” she explained.  “You can see them now,” she continued.  “They’re fine,” she added, “but they’re asleep and you mustn’t wake them; they need their rest.”  
          Once her eyes adjusted to the light, Laurel saw she was in a hallway, a rather plain and unremarkable hallway with closed doors on either side.  It looked much like any other hospital corridor Laurel had ever seen except it was quiet, deathly quiet.  “Uh, where is everyone?” ventured Laurel.  The only sound she could hear was that of their own footsteps and the echo they made. What kind of hospital had no people?  
          “The He-uh, Doctor placed this area off limits,” replied Hermione as they walked, “so you wouldn’t be disturbed.”  
          “Oh,” said Laurel.  “That was nice of him,” she added though in truth she felt rather creeped out by the absence of other people.  Further, when she looked down to the end of the corridor, Laurel could see no other access in or out other than the one she and Dillon had used from the outside!  
          They passed four doors on either side without stopping.  Then Hermione reached out, opened a door on the end, the fifth door on the left side.  “In here,” she told them.  She held the door open and stood back so they could enter.  Inside was a small room with two regular looking hospital beds. Laurel recognized Holly in one of them and Vernon in the other. There was a small table between the beds with a pitcher and a couple of empty tumblers turned upside down.   
          Ginny Potter was sitting in a chair against the wall opposite the beds obviously watching the children.  She stood up hastily at their arrival.  “Don’t disturb them!” she whispered.  
          Laurel and Dillon hurried past Ginny to look at their children.  Vernon lay peacefully on the bed with the covers drawn up.  His handsome face was no longer streaked with mud and dirt.  Vernon’s eyes were closed and he had a slight smile on his lips.   
          Holly’s face was no longer covered with dirt and blood either.  It was still pale but there was more colour to it and she seemed to be breathing easily.  Her long blonde hair was brushed back neatly and that horrible gash on her head seemed to have healed completely!  Sasha was a furry gray line sprawled lengthwise on Holly’s chest.  Her nose nuzzled under Holly’s chin, her front paws rested possessively on either side of Holly’s neck.  Sasha didn’t even look up at their arrival.  She was purring loudly, a picture of total contentment.  Holly’s hands poked out from beneath the covers and lay gently on top of Sasha’s shoulders and back; her fingers intertwined in Sasha’s fur.  Both children looked infinitely better than the last time Laurel had seen them.  
          No longer frantically worried about her children, Laurel’s mind felt free to think of other things.  Ginny stood quietly to one side.  She was still pale but no longer dusty; her red hair was neatly tied back with a scarf Laurel hadn’t seen before.  “Thank you for sitting with them,” Laurel told her.  It would have been bad for the children to wake up in unfamiliar surroundings with strangers all around.  Ginny wasn’t someone she knew well, but at least it would have been a familiar face, one Holly knew and one Vernon had seen once before.  
          Ginny smiled faintly.  “They should be asleep for some time,” she told them, “but I didn’t think they should be alone.”  
          “I’m glad you were here,” replied Laurel honestly.  “Thank you for everything,” she added suddenly remembering it was Ginny who had gone in and gotten the children out of the tree.  Ginny nodded her head.  “Where’s Harry?” asked Laurel looking about for the first time.  Hermione was nowhere to be seen; she probably had never entered the room in the first place.  But what had happened to Harry?  He should have arrived with Vernon.  
          “Harry said he had to get something,” replied Ginny.  “I expect he’ll be back soon.  If you’d like,” she added, “I’ll go fetch a second chair so you can both sit with your children.”  
          “That’s very thoughtful of you,” said Laurel.  Ginny smiled and left the room.  The door shut silently behind her leaving Laurel and Dillon alone with their children.  
          Laurel turned hesitantly towards Dillon.  “Uh,” she began tentatively, “you want the chair?”  Laurel hadn’t really talked to Dillon since she had called the Smiths.  And now that the crisis seemed to have ended, Laurel didn’t know quite what to say.  Dillon stared at her blankly and didn’t reply.  He still had that stunned look on his face that he had when Laurel first mentioned Voldemort.  “You’re right,” said Laurel to Dillon as if he had spoken. “I don’t feel much like sitting either.”  Abruptly the door swung open.  Laurel looked up expecting Ginny’s return with a second chair.  But it was Harry Potter who entered carrying a large paper bag.  
          “I see you made it safely,” he said by way of greeting.  
          “Uh, yes,” said Laurel.  “Yes, we did.  Where’ve you been?”  
          “Dinner,” said Harry mildly holding up the paper bag.  Laurel could see a fast food logo emblazoned on its side.  “I thought you might be hungry.”  
          “Thanks,” said Laurel accepting the bag Harry had in his hand.  “That was very thoughtful of you.”  Now that he mentioned it, Laurel felt extremely hungry having missed lunch altogether.  
          Harry looked over at the children.  “The Hea—uh, doctor says that they probably won’t wake until morning,” he began looking over at the children.  “I know you’ll want to stick around” he added while pulling out a piece of paper from his pocket “so I’ve taken the liberty of making a list of places nearby where you can spend the night or you can stay here if you wish.”  Harry handed the paper to Laurel.  Laurel looked at the list that was complete with names, addresses and contact numbers.  “Also,” continued Harry handing a second piece of paper to Laurel, “here’s a list of nearby restaurants and such if you don't like the hospital fare.”  
          “Thank you,” said Laurel glancing briefly at the second list.  “That was thoughtful of you.”  She looked at Dillon who hadn’t moved much since Harry’s arrival.  “I think we’ll be staying here for the night,” she told Harry decisively.  “I don’t want to leave the kids alone,” she added explaining.  Privately, Laurel didn’t think she could get Dillon back in here if they left.  
          “Of course,” agreed Harry.  “I’ll let them know.  There aren’t any other patients right now so you can use the empty beds in the other rooms.  I can help you bring them into here if you’d like…”  
          Laurel looked at Dillon for some kind of response but got none.  “No, thank you,” she said finally.  “That’s kind of you to offer but I think we can manage on our own.  Perhaps,” she added hesitantly while looking worriedly at Dillon, “it might be better if you left altogether...”  Laurel knew how Dillon felt about his cousin and “their lot” as he referred to them.  The hospital room looked pretty ordinary.  Maybe Dillon would snap out of his funk when there weren’t any visible reminders of weirdness.  
          “Yes, of course,” replied Harry following her glance.  “You need your privacy…”  The door swung open and Ginny entered with a second chair.  She saw Harry and froze mid step recognizing there was some sort of conversation taking place.  “Can I do anything to help you get settled in for the night?” Harry inquired.   
          “That won’t be necessary,” replied Laurel.  “We’ve everything we need in our bags in the car.”  
          “I can help you fetch things right now, if you’d like,” volunteered Ginny while setting down the chair.   
          Laurel hesitated and looked again at Dillon.  His expression hadn’t changed and didn’t help her know what to do.  Laurel’s first impulse was to say “no” just in general principles; she knew they could manage on their own.  But she didn’t think she could count on Dillon for help with the bags tonight and the thought of venturing out onto that seedy street and dragging things in on her own was rather unpleasant.  The alternative was to do without which seemed rather stupid.  “Yes, thank you,” she finally said.  
          “Let me help too,” Harry said hastily.  “Dillon, you can stay here with the children,” he added.  “We’ll be back in a moment.”  And Laurel found herself following Harry and Ginny back down the hall.  
          “The loo’s over there,” said Harry pointing to one of the other doors as they walked, “and I believe there should be some extra toiletries in the cupboard there should you need them.”  The door to the outside swung open easily when Harry gave it a tug.   
          _“Hadn’t it opened the other way before?”_ thought Laurel as they stepped outside.  Laurel shielded her eyes and blinked several times adjusting to the daylight while she moved to her car; Harry and Ginny followed.  Laurel stopped at the back and she dug her spare keys out of her purse.  In a few minutes she had opened the trunk.  Harry reached quickly in, grabbed two bags and pulled them out of the trunk.  Without a word Ginny grabbed the other two.   
          “Oh no!” exclaimed Laurel.  “We won’t need everything.”  
          “You never know,” replied Harry mildly while refusing to return a bag.  “Need anything else from inside the car?” he asked.  
          “No, that should be everything,” said Laurel as she closed the trunk.  She already had her purse.  Then Ginny handed Laurel a bag and they returned to the door.  It was again fastened securely shut with a heavy padlock and chain.  Harry set one of the bags on the ground and used his free hand to produce a heavy key.  He unlocked the padlock and the chain swung free with a loud clank.  Returning the key to his pocket, Harry pulled the door open standing aside to let Ginny and Laurel in first.  _“Hermione had definitely pulled it open too!”_ thought Laurel observing the hinges set plainly on the outside while she went through the entrance.  Laurel waited until Harry closed the door and looked again.  The hinges inside were set to open the door the _other_ way!  Harry definitely had pulled the door open to go out and then pulled it open again to go in!  However did they do that?  
          The long hall didn’t seem nearly as long now that she knew where she was headed.  Ginny reached the door first.  She opened it and stood aside to let Laurel in.  Laurel entered the room and was relieved to note Dillon had taken a chair, moved it and now sat between Holly and Vernon. The bracelet dangled from one hand; the other had pulled Vernon’s hand out from under the covers and held it firmly.  Dillon looked up as they arrived and then turned his gaze to the bracelet in his hand turning it over and looking at the charms one by one.  
          “There’s a buzzer on the table you can ring if you need anything,” Harry told Laurel as he set her bags down.  “In the meantime, I’ll see that no one bothers you.  Come on, Ginny,” he told her as she quietly set down her bag next to the other ones.  “Let’s go now.  We’ll be back in the morning to check on things.”  
          “Thank you,” said Laurel.  “Thank you for everything.”  Harry nodded and turned to leave.  
          “Uh, bye,” said Ginny brightly and she followed Harry out the room.  The door swung silently shut behind them.


	27. Chapter 27

          The dementors had found her!  Holly Wycliff was on the train speeding down a track.  The train engine roared loudly in her ear, but the dementors kept pace and sucked up everything leaving behind only failure and guilt.  Holly reached out and stroked the engine making it go faster and faster, roar louder, but she couldn’t outrace the dementors!  The sense of defeat and guilt stayed with her.  Holly stroked the engine again and again, could feel its weight pushing rhythmically against her shoulders, the heat of its fire, the fur beneath her fingers…  Fur!!!  SASHA???  Holly woke abruptly with Sasha purring loudly in her ear, her paws kneading insistently on either side of Holly's chin.  
 _“Can it really be you?”_ thought Holly wonderingly not daring to believe what her senses told her.  For if it were Sasha, then it meant her nightmare was over, truly over!  Holly kept her eyes tightly shut while she continued to stroke the familiar silky fur with her fingertips, savoring its feel, noting the gentle breath on her neck. The last thing she remembered was hurrying across the room with Vernon.  What had happened after that?  Did it matter?  She was out!!!  That was the important part!!!  Holly could figure the rest later.   
          But if she were truly out, wondered Holly as she reached with her mind to embrace the unconditional bliss of Sasha’s purr, why did she still feel such remorse and failure?  Suddenly the feelings vanished as if they had never existed.  That was when Holly realized she hadn’t been blocking.  So whose feelings were they?  Holly cautiously unblocked and sought the source of the remorse.  
          “Daddy?” she said in disbelief sitting up suddenly while grabbing hold of Sasha so the cat wouldn’t slide.  “Is that you?”  
          “Yes, baby,” came her dad’s voice from a chair nearby.  
          Opening her eyes, Holly saw she was on a bed in a small, dimly lit room with two other beds.  Turning her head to the sound of the voice, Holly could see the welcome form of her dad sitting next to her.  Holly released Sasha onto her lap, reached her arms out and grabbed her father around the neck.  “Oh, daddy," she said hugging him tightly.  "I missed you so!” and began to sob uncontrollably.  All the tears Holly had kept pent up for the last three days came flooding out.

********************

          Dillon Wycliff placed his arms around Holly’ slender body drawing her to his lap forcing the cat to jump off.  He noted with surprise Holly seemed to still be dressed in her daytime clothes.  “Shhh, baby,” he said soothingly welcoming Holly’s embrace.  “It’s all right now.”  He missed Holly too, but not, it seemed, the way she did.  After all, Holly had been gone only a couple of hours—a day at most if one counted hospital time…  
          “I thought I’d never see you again,” gulped Holly between sobs.  
          “Me too, baby, me too,” replied Dillon honestly as he stroked her long hair.  He had known things were bad as soon as Laurel found Holly’s creepy bracelet in the grass.  (The bracelet didn’t jingle.  It had once, but then Dillon had complained loudly about the noise and when Holly had next returned from school the bracelet didn’t make any noise at all…)  Holly was never without it.  Dillon realized things were worse than bad when Laurel mentioned that Lord Voldee-guy’s name.  And when Laurel’s Healthstone went dark Dillon had feared the worst.  He feared he would never see Holly or Vernon again _alive!_   Those horrible clunking sounds coming from within the tree didn’t help any.  When Dillon saw Holly’s pale, limp form come out of the tree he had been certain all was lost.   
          “Vernon?” asked Holly suddenly.  
          “Vernon’s fine,” assured Dillon.  At least he thought Vernon was.  Vernon had winced with every breath and his voice sounded horrible, but he had been alive and talking when they got him out of the tree.  Dillon removed one hand from around Holly and pointed to the bed on his other side where Vernon was sleeping.  He probably still had a smile on his face.  Vernon’s breathing seemed much easier now and he had looked infinitely better all cleaned up.  
          Laurel was sleeping in the third bed, the one on the end of Holly’s and Vernon’s beds.   Laurel had rolled it in from one of the other empty rooms after eating dinner.  Dillon hadn’t felt much like food, eating only a few bites at Laurel’s insistence.  Nor had he felt like sleeping so he had opted for the chair next to Holly where he could watch and think.  
          “I’m so sorry,” he whispered to Holly hoping to not wake Laurel or Vernon.  “I’ve been trying hard to keep you safe but I’ve only made things worse!”  
          “Daddy—”  
          “Shhh!” said Dillon placing a finger on Holly’s lips before she could say more.  “I’ve decided that if I can’t keep you safe, at least I can make you happy.  You can go back to, to _that school_ if you want to,” he added swiftly.  There, he’d said it!  
          “Oh, Daddy!” said Holly winding her arms around him even tighter.  “Thank you!”  And Dillon hugged her tightly back.  He’d probably regret his words tomorrow, but for now, it seemed like the right thing to do.  
          “But you’re wrong!” Holly added.  
          “Huh?”  
          “You haven’t failed!  You’ve been keeping me safe all along, daddy.  You saved me when Mrs. Roger’s mum died!  You sent me to Hogwarts; I know you don’t like the place, but you did the right thing.  I used what I learned there to stay alive!  And you,” she added looking directly into his face.  “You kept me safe too!”  Holly dug into her pants pocket.  “Look,” she said holding up a small shiny object.  Dillon stared at it with amazement.  It was the charm he had given Holly for her birthday.  Dillon had glumly noted its absence from the charm bracelet and guessed Holly had been too upset with him to bother adding his gift to her bracelet.  “You were with me all along!” added Holly.  
          “Was I?” asked Dillon looking down at the heart.  
          “Yes,” affirmed Holly.  “And I would have never made back at all without you!”  
          “Really?” asked Dillon hopefully feeling the conviction in Holly’s voice.  
          “Really.”  
          And Dillon repositioned his arms to give Holly a better hug, one without all the guilt.  As his hands moved, his fingers, still clutching Holly’s bracelet seemed to snag on her hair, rather, the bracelet did.  “Here,” said Dillon gruffly pulling the bracelet gently away from Holly’s hair and holding it up.  The charms caught the dim light and seemed to glint brightly.  “Perhaps you’ll be wanting this back.”  
          “Thank you,” said Holly taking the bracelet from his fingers.  She swiftly unclasped it, wound the chain and charms around her wrist and refastened the lock.  “I do.  But, um, if you don’t mind, I’d rather wear your heart like a necklace.  That way I’d have it with me always.  Do you think you could buy a chain for it?”  
          “I can do that,” said Dillon with a smile.   
          “Thank you, daddy,” said Holly hugging him again warmly.  Dillon was suddenly glad it was dark so Holly couldn’t see the tears forming in his eyes.  
          “Hey!” came Vernon’s voice groggily from the other bed.  “What’s going on?”  Dillon was surprised and relieved to note Vernon’s voice no longer sounded rough and scratchy.  
          “Nothing, Vernon” replied Holly with a happy note to her voice.  “We’re just talking.”  
          “Oh.”  Then,  “Who’s “we?” Vernon asked curiously raising himself up a bit and looking around in the dim light.   
          “Me, Vernon,” replied Dillon with a smile on his lips.  
          “Hey, dad!” said Vernon happily.  “You here too?”  
          “That’s right,” Dillon assured him.  
          “And me too,” said Laurel raising her head from her bed.  How long had she been awake listening in?  
          “Hi, mum!” said Vernon cheerfully.  “What are you doing here?  Is everything O.K.?”  
          “Everything is fine, Vernon,” Laurel said.  “You can go back to sleep, now.”  
          “Good,” replied Vernon lowering himself back onto his bed.  “Because I was having the awfulest dream…  G’night.”  
          “Good night,” said Laurel lowering her head back onto her pillow.  
          “Good night,” said Holly curling herself tighter in Dillon’s arms.  
          “Good night,” said Dillon smiling.  Everything _was_ fine now.

********************

          Vernon Wycliff unwrapped his smoked bacon and cheese double BBQ burger and happily inhaled the fresh grilled scents that wafted up.  _“Wonderful!”_ he thought to himself in anticipation  _“Simply wonderful!”_ The family had stopped at a fast food joint on the way home.  Home—not off to tour more boarding schools!  For some reason, dad had decided Holly could return to Hogwarts, Vernon planned to ask Holly about that later.  No matter.  Now they were headed home!  
 _“That was sure a strange place they called a “hospital,”_ reflected Vernon as he took a bite of the burger savoring the juices that flowed into his mouth.  Rooms, but no people to speak of.  A stout brunette woman wearing a nurse’s cap had come in once carrying a tray with breakfast.  She cheerfully handed mum the tray and suggested they use mum’s bed as a table before leaving.  The food was just oatmeal and milk, but dad looked at it suspiciously and refused to eat.  That left more for Vernon—and he had devoured every spoonful hungrily.  
          Then that funny doctor came back carrying his black bag.  Despite dad’s objections, the doctor insisted on giving both Vernon and Holly a check-up.  He took Holly aside first, drawing her into the hallway, within sight of mum and dad, but out of their hearing.  Vernon could tell dad wasn’t too happy about that; he watched the doctor suspiciously the whole time.  They didn’t seem to do anything but talk glancing occasionally Vernon’s way.   
          Then the two returned and Holly sat down near Vernon for his check-up.  It wasn’t much of a check-up as far as Vernon was concerned.  After asking Vernon how he felt, (fine) the doctor asked Vernon to make a fist with both hands, wiggle his fingers quickly and breathe deeply several times.  Mostly, the doctor seemed to talk to himself.  “Circulation’s improved,” he muttered, “dehydration gone, and it looks like the broken bones have mended nicely.”  
          Broken bones?  “What broken bones?” Vernon asked curiously.   
          “Yours,” replied the doctor calmly.  “You had four cracked ribs yesterday.  But you needn’t worry,” he added swiftly.  “Bones tend to mend quickly when the breaks are fresh like that.”   
          “Oh,” replied Vernon dumbly.  He vaguely remembered some sharp stabbing pains in his chest yesterday, (was that only yesterday?) Were those stabbing pains the broken ribs he meant?  
          “Any numbness or tingling in your arms, fingers, legs or toes?” he had asked casually.   
          “No,” replied Vernon quickly.   
          The Doctor stared intently at Vernon and then looked at Holly.  Vernon followed his glance and saw Holly solemnly shaking her head back and forth.  
          “O.K.,” confessed Vernon remembering Holly could “feel” stuff.  “They do tingle a bit.  But it’s no big deal.”  
          “Of course it isn’t,” agreed the doctor smoothly.  “But I think you should take at least one more spoonful of po-uh medicine before you leave to make sure…”  He reached into his bag and drew out a brown bottle.  
          “Now see here,” said dad.  “Checking my kids is one thing, giving them your stuff is ano—”  
          “Dad,” interrupted Holly firmly.  “Please!  He’s trying to help.  If Healer Winonan says that’s what Vernon needs, then that’s what Vernon needs!  He’s the best there is!”  
          _“Healer?”_ thought Vernon in confusion.  _"The best?!!"_   He looked at the doctor with more interest.  Winonan didn’t look much like a doctor wearing those chartreuse pants and orange flowered suspenders.  Vernon barely remembered the guy from the day before, but he had the impression the doctor had acted rather strange.  On the other hand, Vernon had to admit he was feeling pretty good.   
          “Dear,” said mum gently to dad, “maybe this one time…”  
          “Oh, all right!” grumbled dad backing down but never once taking his suspicious eyes off the doctor...   
          Doctor Winonan proceeded to uncork the brown bottle and pour out a spoonful of syrupy yellow stuff.  He handed the spoon to Vernon who put the spoon in his mouth and swallowed quickly.  After all, it had had a peppermint taste the other time, if he recalled correctly.  Immediately, Vernon gagged and coughed.  “Lemon!” he sputtered in surprise.   
          “Of course,” replied Doctor Winonan calmly.  “What did you expect with Yellow?  I find young people your age seem to prefer lemon flavor over banana,” he added.  
          Vernon swallowed hastily.  “Yeah,” he agreed reluctantly, “I guess that’s true.”  I was just surprised.  
          “Want another?” Doctor Winonan asked casually.  
          Vernon gulped.  “Uh, yeah,” he said quickly before dad could say otherwise.  Vernon did like sour flavors—but they were better when he was expecting them.  Vernon handed the spoon back to the Doctor who proceeded to pour out another spoonful. Vernon took the filled spoon from the Doctor and put it in his mouth.   He closed his eyes and swallowed.  Very sour!  Not bad.  That was when Cousin Harry walked in.  
          “Are they ready to check out?” asked Cousin Harry while Vernon returned the spoon to the doctor.  
          “They are indeed,” confirmed Doctor Winonan.  “They just need a couple of weeks of rest and relaxation now.  But that could best be done in more familiar surroundings…”

********************

          “That looks good,” said Holly as Vernon took another bite of his burger.  
          “It is,” he told her promptly while savoring the smoky flavors still in his mouth.  
          “May I try some?” she asked hesitantly.  
          Vernon looked at Holly in surprise.  True, she hadn’t objected at the decision to enter a burger joint, but Vernon knew how Holly felt about meat and she had ordered a salad for her lunch.  “Uh, sure,” he said glancing inquisitively at mum and dad before handing the burger over to Holly.  They both watched the exchange with interest.   
          “Thanks,” said Holly as she took the burger in her hands.  Vernon watched as Holly stared intently at the burger.  Then her eyes kind of rolled up and closed.  Holly opened her mouth, brought the burger to her lips and took a bite, a big bite.  The whole family watched as Holly very slowly chewed.  Holly swallowed and opened her eyes.  “You’re right,” she told Vernon with a satisfied smile.  “It _is_ good.”  
          “I thought you didn’t eat, uh, meat,” said Vernon as Holly handed the burger back to him.  
          “Things change,” she said vaguely as she speared a piece of lettuce.  She stared wistfully at the rest of the burger now in his hand.  
          “Want to tell me about it?”  
          “Not at the table.”  
          “Oh.”  Vernon looked from his burger to Holly, who had taken another bite of her salad.  “I’ll give you the rest of the burger if you'll tell me about it later…” he suggested.  
          “O. K.,” Holly said quickly.  She set down her fork and reached out to grab the burger.  
          “You promise?” Vernobn asked holding the burger just out of reach.  
          “I promise,” replied Holly laughing.  
          “All right!” said Vernon happily and he handed Holly the rest of his burger.  After all, it _was_ his second burger; he could manage on just one burger until dinner and any story not suitable for the dinner table was bound to be a good one!

********************

           Mrs. Arabella Doreen Figg finished washing off her hands before removing the earmuffs.  After placing the earmuffs on the shelf she made one last survey of the greenhouse plants.  Then she opened the door and stepped out into the warm sunshine.  Arabella then counted her cats making sure all five had come out with her before carefully closing and locking the door.  Finally finished, she started back to the main castle.  Repotting the Mandrakes wasn’t part of her usual assignments, but Neville was in Brazil seeking new plant specimens and Arabella had agreed to watch things for him during his absence.   
          A movement off to the side attracted her attention.  Shading her eyes, Arabella turned to look at the source.  It seemed to be a solitary owl flying towards the school.  It was carrying a rather large parcel.  Mail time had come and gone ages ago but Arabella judged the size of the package was the cause of the owl’s slowness.  As the owl drew closer, she wondered for whom the package was intended; there were few people on the grounds during the summer.  
          To Arabella’s surprise, the owl suddenly veered her way.  It flew overhead dropping the package at her feet before rising high in the air and flying swiftly off.  “What on earth?” mused Arabella staring at the package while trying to remember if she had recently ordered anything.  Certain she hadn’t, Arabella decided it must be a mistake of some sort.  People didn’t just send her things…  But a closer inspection confirmed the package was indeed intended for her:  the label plainly read “Mrs. Figg, Hogwarts.”  
          There was no return address nor did the plain brown wrapping give any clue to its origins.  Arabella picked the package up.  It was about 2 meters long, rather bulky and fairly heavy.  She gave it an experimental shake.  No sound.  Then Arabella squeezed it and the wrapping gave in at the pressure with a crinkly sound.  An oversized broom with a lot of stuffing, perhaps?  Arabella couldn’t imagine what was inside.  She would just have to open it to learn more.   
          Arabella set the package back down on the ground and began to untie the twine that held it together.  Boots and Poopsey joined her efforts enthusiastically by jumping onto the package and applying tooth and claw to the project.  “Careful,” Arabella told her cats affectionately.  “We don’t want to destroy what’s inside…”   
          But their enthusiasm would not be slowed.  Soon the paper was ripped apart.  “My goodness!” exclaimed Arabella as an assortment of catnip toys fell out.  “Who would send me this?”  The rest of the cats crowded around and happily began batting and sniffing the toys.  Arabella tore open the rest of the package and discovered it was a cat tree house/condo for five complete with a rug post for scratching!  Tucked around the post and inside the different shelters were more cat toys and assortment of cat treats!   
          Taped firmly to the base of the tree house was a rather large round tin.  Pulling off the tape Arabella released the tin and examined it carefully.  A plain white Muggle style envelope was affixed to the top. It read: _Mrs. Figg, Poopsey, Boots, Tiger, Prince and Snowball._ Arabella removed the envelope and tore it open.  She pulled a folded piece of stationary.  She opened it and read the message within:

**Dear Mrs. Figg, Poopsey, Boots, Tiger, Prince and Snowball,**

**Thank you for everything.**

**Sincerely,**

                       **Holly Wycliff**

          _“Miss Wycliff?”_ thought Arabella with surprise.  _“Why would she send me anything?”_ Arabella certainly knew Miss Wycliff; they had spoken to each other once or twice in the hallways but only to exchange casual greetings.  None of that was enough to merit a gift such as this…  

There was a postscript on the bottom of the page:

**P.S.  Perhaps Cousin Harry might enjoy looking at your cat photos one day, especially the one of “Baby. “**

          _“Baby?”_ thought Arabella in amazement. _“I haven’t thought of Baby in ages!”_   She frowned trying to remember the photo with Baby wondering why Harry might be interested in that particular cat…  “Oh my!” she whispered in surprise.  “That’s right!  Harry helped with that photo!  Now how on earth would Miss Wycliff know that?”  Arabella folded up the note and returned it to the envelope.  Putting the envelope in her pocket, she opened the tin.  It contained an assortment of sugary sweets suitable for tea.  They all looked hand made and very delicious.  
          “What have you here, Arabella?” came the voice of Headmistress McGonagall.   She was returning from her morning constitutional around the grounds.  Noting Mrs. Figg in the pathway with all the paper, McGonagall had gone to investigate.  
          “It’s a gift from Miss Wycliff,” replied Arabella while she closed the tin.  
          “Indeed?”  
          “Yes,” continued Arabella.  “Her note says, “Thank-you,” but I can’t imagine why or for what.”  
          “Well perhaps you can ask her when she returns to school this fall,” said the Headmistress.  
          “I thought she wasn’t returning this year,” said Arabella remembering comments made earlier that summer when Harry had requested help in making official looking transcripts for Holly.  
          “Well, her parents must have changed their minds,” replied the Headmistress.  “I just got word this morning; Holly is definitely returning and her tuition has been already paid in full.”  
          “In that case,” said Arabella bending down to pick up some of the cat toys, “I shall be sure to ask her.”  
          “Would you like some help carrying all this inside?” inquired McGonagall.  
          “I would indeed,” replied Arabella.  She had tossed several of the toys and treats in an untorn section of wrapping paper intending to use it as a makeshift bag.  “Thank you so much.”  The Headmistress took off her hat and started filling it with toys as well. Holding her hat with one hand she picked up the cat condo with the other.  When Arabella was finished collecting the rest of the things, she gathered up the bag holding it in one hand and the tin in the other.  Then the two women continued their way to the castle.  They had to walk carefully to avoid the five cats that excitedly circled their feet as they moved.   
          “When we finish setting this up,” began Arabella as they walked, “would you like a spot of tea?  I’ve some new cookies to try,” she added nodding to her tin.   
          “That sounds like an excellent idea,” said the Headmistress, “I do believe I would enjoy some tea about now.”  
          “And I have some photos of my cats you might be interested in seeing,” continued Arabella thoughtfully.  “One in particular of a cat named “Baby…”

********************

          The small white ball sailed past the table landing on the ground behind her.  “That makes the score 6-4,” said Ravindra Avani Vasari as she went to fetch the ball.  Her cornrow braids jingled as she bent her head.  “Your serve now, Dhan,” she added tossing the ball to her little brother.  Dhan caught the ball and held it carefully with one hand.  “Four/six,” he called out as he dropped the ball on the table and hit it over the net using the paddle in his other hand.  Ravindra hit the ball back to him, but not too hard. Dhanvant was only 8 years old after all and still learning the game.   
          They volleyed gently back and forth to each other a few times and then a lucky shot of Dhan’s landed the ball on the edge of the table just on the other side of the net in a location too difficult for Ravindra to reach.  It bounced once on the table and then landed on the ground nearby.   
          “Got you!” Dhan said with delight.  His brown eyes twinkled and his earnest face broke into a wide smile.  
          “You did indeed,” agreed Ravindra smiling also as she walked around the table.  “That makes the score five to six,” she added as she bent down to get the ball.  “You’re almost caught up!”  She handed the ball back to Dhan.  Dhan paused to brush some brown strands of hair out of his eyes.  
          “Look!” said Dhan suddenly pointing into the air behind Ravindra.  “An owl!”  
          Ravindra turned and looked in the direction Dhan was pointing.  “So it is,” she agreed.  “But what kind?”  She had been working with Dhan on bird identification and had made several trips with him to a nearby aviary to further his knowledge.  
          Dhan placed his ball and paddle on the table and studied the flying bird a moment before responding, “I believe it’s a barn owl!” he concluded.  
          “Very good,” said Ravindra approvingly while placing her own paddle on the table.  “And what do we know about barn owls?”  
          Dhan’s brown features screwed up in concentration while they both watched the bird fly closer.  “Well,” he began, “they are found on every continent except Antarctica.”  
          “Yes?”  
          “They eat small mammals such as mice and live in the grassland and fields…”  
          “And?”  
          “They like to nest in hollow trees and buildings…”  
          “And?”  
          “And they’re usually nocturnal!” he concluded jubilantly.  “Which means this owl has a message!”  
          “Excellent!” said Ravindra although the last part was fairly obvious as the owl was clutching something in its claw that could be clearly seen even from a distance.  Further, Ravindra recognized this particular owl as one that often dropped messages at the Hufflepuff table, in particular, in front of Becky Smith.  That meant it was probably a Smith family owl.  Ravindra could not imagine why Becky, or anyone in her family, would be sending her messages.  Becky was several years younger than Ravindra.  They didn’t share any classes and had never had an occasion to even speak with one another.   
          When the owl was overhead, Ravindra reached out her hands and the bird dropped the paper it was carrying.  Ravindra caught it easily.  Instead of a parchment roll, it was a Muggle style envelope!  It bore a simple address:

**Ravindra Vasari, Aylesbury?**

          “Who’s it from?” asked Dhan eagerly.  
          “A classmate,” replied Ravindra vaguely.  The return address explained much:

**H. Wycliff**

          Ravindra knew Holly Wycliff rather well, having dueled against her at school, and Holly was best friends with Becky.  But Holly was not the letter-writing type, at least not to Ravindra; they had been classmates, nothing more.  Ravindra turned the envelope over and opened it.  She pulled out a single folded piece of paper.  When she opened it, something fluttered to the ground.  
          Dhan bent eagerly to pick it up.  “Woah!” he said excitedly fingering the ten-pound note in his brown hand.  “Why’d you get this?” he asked as he handed the note to Ravindra.  
          “I don’t know,” replied Ravindra thoughtfully.  She turned her attention to the message on the paper.

**Dear Ravindra,**

**Thank you for all your help and for the loan.  They were both much appreciated.**

**Sincerely,** **Holly Wycliff**

**P.S.  Be sure to give everyone in your family  
                              a hug from me.  H.**

          “Interesting,” mused Ravindra after reading the message.  
          “What?”  
          “She says she returning some money I loaned her.”  
          “What’s interesting about that?” asked Dhan.  
          “I didn’t loan her any,” replied Ravindra folding up the paper.  
          “So why give you the money?”  
          “I don’t know,” replied Ravindra while returning the paper and note to the envelope.  “It’s a mystery!” she concluded happily.  “Something for me to ponder on during summer vacation!  In the meantime,” Ravindra added while stuffing the envelope in a pocket, “why don’t you and I go inside for some lemonade?”  
          “O.K.” agreed Dhan.  He liked lemonade.  The two left the table walked back toward the house.  Suddenly Ravindra bent down and wrapped Dhan in a tight hug.  “What’s that for?” asked Dhan surprised by the sudden display of affection.  
          “Just because,” replied Ravindra happily while hugging him again warmly.  She didn’t know why Holly had suggested it, but hugging everyone in her family was a great idea and she intended to do it.   After all, Ravindra loved her family very much.


	28. Chapter 28

          “It’s not here!” exclaimed Ron staring at the polished white surface.  “You’re sure this is the right place?”  
          “Certain!” retorted Ginny.  “I was standing right here when I did it!”  
          “Maybe you just imagined it!” suggested Ron.  “You know he was messing with your mind pretty bad that year…”  
          “I did not imagine it!” said Ginny angrily.  “It was here! I know it was!  I remember doing it!  It was night; it was dark and cold outside and I put it right here at eye level so everyone could see it!”  She pointed to a specific spot on the marble.  “You do believe me don’t you?” she asked turning to Harry, who was standing a short distance away.  
          “Yes, I do,” he replied calmly.  Ginny would not be mistaken about something as serious as this.  The four of them were standing outside Gringotts Bank looking at one of its polished white marble pillars.  Ginny remembered placing a plaque here and they had gone to investigate.  
          “Well, it’s not here now,” said Hermione firmly while examining the white stone for herself.  “What do you think we should do next?”  She turned to Harry for an answer.  
          Harry stepped forward to look for himself.  Ginny placed a warning hand on his shoulder but Harry wasn’t worried.  He knew if there were anything to find Hermione and Ron would have found it.  “I think we need to make inquiries,” he finally said while looking at but not touching the unmarked surface of the gleaming white pillar.  
          “What and give them an excuse to hold something else over our heads!” said Ron angrily while holding up his wrist.  There seemed to be nothing on it, but all four of them knew of the invisible silver band resting there that showed only while within Gringotts.  Its presence still annoyed Ron to no end.  “I say it’s not here and good riddance!  Let’s go home!”  
          “And worry that it may someday turn up in some antique shop as a “harmless” curio?” countered Harry mildly.  “We’ve been lucky twice but I doubt our luck would hold should this happen a _third_ time.”  
          “But everyone that matters knows about it now,” protested Ron.  “None of you would be stupid enough to touch something with your name on it again…”  
          “It doesn’t work that way,” said Harry remembering how the first plaque had caused him to reach out and try to touch it repeatedly even when he knew he shouldn’t. “Even knowing about it in advance won’t keep you from touching it, if you’re close enough.”  
          “And it’s likely to strengthen with age,” commented Hermione.  “Who knows what kind of pull it’ll exert later on… Harry’s right,” decided Hermione.  “We’ve got to know what happened to it.  This thing won’t end with just us,” she continued.  “What if one of Harry’s grandchildren found it…”  
          “No!” whispered Ginny in horror.  
          “Well,” said Ron grudgingly.  “You inquire, I’ll wait.  You can’t trust anything they say anyway!”  
          “It’s in their interest to help us,” replied Harry thoughtfully.  “Wizard treatment of goblins under Lord Voldemort wasn’t all that great.”  
          “Perhaps,” admitted Ron, “but will they see it that way?  They’re likely to tell you one story and sell the truth to the highest bidder!”  
          “Still,” persisted Harry, “we have to try…”  
          “You try,” said Ron.  “I still think I’ll wait. Besides,” he added, “you’re better with goblins than I am.”  
          “I’ll wait with you,” said Hermione loyally.  “You two go on ahead.”  
          Harry nodded. “O.K.,” he said taking Ginny’s arm.  “Don’t go, though,” he added.  “We may need you.”  
          “Don’t worry,” replied Ron.  “Wouldn’t dream of leaving without you.”  
          Harry and Ginny then walked up to the entrance.

*********************

          A goblin dressed in a scarlet and gold uniform stood proudly at the door.  He opened the door and bowed as Harry and Ginny walked in. The two paused briefly before the second set of doors to read the words of warning engraved upon them. Then they continued on their way walking through the doors and stood at the entrance of a vast marble hall.  
          “Hello, Mr. Potter, Mrs. Potter,” came a courteous voice next to Harry.  “May I help you?”  
          “I believe so, yes,” said Harry looking down at Griphook.  “Um,” Harry was at a loss for words having never done this type of thing before. “Is there a place where we can speak, uh, privately?” Harry finally asked.  
          “This way please,” said Griphook without batting an eye.  He turned and walked off to one side of the long counters filled with seated goblins.  
 _“He must get these kind of requests all the time,”_ thought Harry as they followed Griphook.  
          The bank interior seemed to dissolve into impenetrable blackness beyond the counters but after several steps, Griphook stopped and reached out a hand. He seemed to be pressing something. A shift in air currents and a whispery soft hiss led Harry to realize Griphook had opened a door of some sort.  Griphook continued to walk forward.  Harry and Ginny followed.   In doing so, Harry realized they had passed through a wall, an inky black wall or was it totally clear?   Either way, the wall was invisible from the distance and blended in perfectly with the cave-like background.  
          “Wait here a moment, please,” said Griphook calmly in the darkness.  “The second door will not open until the first is closed." he informed them.  "This prevents any light from escaping and insures complete privacy for our patrons.”  A soft hiss signaled the door had slid shut behind them.  Once closed, all outside banking sounds ceased.  The three stood together in total silence.  Ginny gripped Harry’s hand tightly and he squeezed it back reassuringly.  The silver band on Harry’s wrist glowed brightly in the darkness.  Glancing back, however, Harry could still see the long counters and the other goblins.  Certain he had passed a wall, Harry reached out behind him and his hand encountered an icy smooth surface.  
          “It’s a see-through wall!” exclaimed Ginny wonderingly as she stretched her hand out and gently touched the transparent surface too.  
          “Of course,” replied Griphook.  “Some of our patrons do not wish to be seen by other patrons.  But they often wish see who else is in the bank before leaving this room.”  
          “They can’t see in?” questioned Harry curiously.  
          “No,” said Griphook proudly.  “Only out.”  
          A second door opened in front of them with a similar hiss.  It revealed a small semi-oval shaped room, which appeared to be roughly hewn out of the rocky wall. Three torches spaced evenly around the walls lighted the room.  There was a narrow irregularly shaped table in the center along with three chairs.  The table was dark mahogany coloured.  It was long and thin-shaped somewhat like a spoon with rounded edges. The seat of the furtherest chair seemed slightly higher than the other two.  
          Griphook stepped forward followed closely by Harry and Ginny.  As soon as the three had stepped over the threshold the second door closed silently behind them. Harry turned and looked back.  Both walls, doors included seemed to be made of a clear glass.  Harry could see through both walls to the rest of the bank.  Outside, Harry saw the long counter filled with seated goblins as well as the entrance to the bank.  He could clearly see those who entered and left.  
          “Will this do?” asked Griphook calmly allowing time for their inspection of the premise.  
          “Yes, thank you,” agreed Harry instinctively realizing that despite the clear walls, the people outside could neither see nor hear them.  
          “Please take a seat,” Griphook instructed pointing to the two nearest chairs.  Harry and Ginny each took one of the chairs indicated and sat down.  Ginny again took Harry’s hand while they sat and he gripped it back reassuringly.  No words were necessary between them.  Then Griphook moved to the other side of the table and sat down at the back chair where he could watch both of them plus have a view of the rest of the bank.  Its elevated height, Harry noticed, would enable Griphook to look at them eye to eye.  
          When they were all seated Griphook fixed his black glittering eyes upon Harry and Ginny and asked, “How may I help you?”  
          Harry and Ginny looked uncomfortably at each other.  How to begin?  “We’re seeking information,” Harry began cautiously, “about something that may have happened here several years ago...”  
          “Information does not come free,” replied Griphook bluntly, his face revealing nothing.  
          “Of course we would be willing to pay for that information,” continued Harry and then, mindful of Ron’s mistrust, he added, “If we could be certain it was correct….”  
          “Accurate information will cost more,” replied Griphook pointedly.  “And may be less interesting…”  
          “But no doubt well worth the value,” responded Harry.  
          Griphook stared intently at the two.  Finally he said, “There can be no negotiations for accurate information.”  
          “Of course not,” replied Harry, “for then its accuracy would come into question.”  
          Griphook nodded slowly in agreement.  “What is it you wish to know?” he asked.  
          Harry took a deep breath.  “We’re looking for something,” he began carefully, “that may have been placed near here over 25 years ago…”  
          “Something that may have been located on that pillar you and your friends have been inspecting?” Griphook asked shrewdly.  
          “Yes,” said Harry both relieved to not have to go into detail and disconcerted at how closely they must have been under observation while they were outside.  “You worked here then,” Harry added.  “Perhaps you can remember something…”  
          Griphook sat silently regarding the two without expression for several minutes.  Finally he leaned back and placed his long yellow fingers together. “There was one incident,” began Griphook slowly, “that occurred 26 years ago during winter; it was an attempt to breach the security of Gringotts,” he added dryly.  “An item was left behind and the wand carrier responsible was never brought to justice….”  At this point, Griphook’s glittering black eyes turned to look directly, accusingly, at Ginny.  
          A long silence followed and Ginny flushed under his accusing stare.  “You knew!” she suddenly exploded.  “You knew all along and yet you never said anything!  Why didn’t you say something?”  
          “To whom would we speak of this matter?” inquired Griphook sharply while clasping his fingers together and placing them on the desk. “To the under-aged wand carrier herself who clearly had not the ability to do what she did nor knew of her own actions?  Or to her parents who were obviously unaware of her activities and would have required that we reveal certain security features of Gringotts as proof?  The attempt was unsuccessful,” he added.  “Better to watch and wait.”  
          There was a moment of silence.  Then Harry cleared his throat. “What, uh,” he began tentatively, “became of the item?”   
          “You mean the obscenity attached to the pillar?” inquired Griphook bluntly.  “We had it removed, of course.  Its presence made our non-wand carrying patrons uneasy and the green-eyed wand carriers kept on stopping to touch it.  We cannot have something like that outside interfering with business.”  
          “What happened to it?” inquired Ginny in a low voice.  
          Griphook turned his unwavering gaze on Ginny.  “It was never claimed,” he told her, “so we put it in one of our unused vaults for storage.”  
          “Is it there now?” asked Harry struggling to keep his expression neutral and his voice calm.  Perhaps there was an end in sight to Tom Riddle’s nightmare.  
          “Yes,” said Griphook flatly.  He regarded the two of them intently while waiting for their next response.  
          Harry thought quickly.  If indeed the plaque had lain safely in a Gringotts vault all this time, it would do no harm to let it remain there.  But would it stay there indefinitely? What guarantee had they that the plaque would not be removed at some future date?  Better to try and obtain it so they could insure its destruction.  But how did one do that?  “Would it be possible,” he began cautiously, “to relieve you of this, ah, obscenity?”  
          “Such a thing might be possible,” replied Griphook slowly, “but not by you.  You have no standing.  We can only release items to their rightful owners or someone designated to act in their stead.”  
          Harry leaned back dismayed by this news.  There were no known relatives of Tom Riddle or Lord Voldemort and if there were, Harry would never ask their help in obtaining the plaque.  
          “But I would have standing, wouldn’t I?” broke in Ginny suddenly.  “After all, if it were me that brought the, ah, “obscenity,” I could claim ownership, couldn’t I?”  Her voice had a hopeful note in it.  Like Harry, she wanted that plaque destroyed.  
           Griphook turned his head and regarded Ginny thoughtfully with his unwavering black eyes.  “You could,” he began slowly, “but only if you acknowledged guilt in the security breach as well.  Do you?” he asked.  Then he continued not giving Ginny a chance to respond.  “Think carefully before you answer, for the owner of that obscenity would also face goblin punishment for her crimes.  The penalty for trying to breach Gringotts security is death!” Griphook added coldly.  “There would be no wizard allowance given to you…” and his gaze fell on the silver band on Harry’s wrist.  It glowed ever brightly in the dim lighting.  
          A long silence followed while Harry and Ginny absorbed this news.  Harry wanted the plaque desperately but not if it meant Ginny’s life!  Surely there was some other way…  
          “But this isn’t a “security breach,” corrected Harry thoughtfully.  “By your own words no breach was made and only an “obscenity” was left behind.  That sounds to me more like a case of simple ... vandalism.  Surely your rules concerning vandalism are less … harsh?”  
          Griphook stroked his pointed beard thoughtfully.  “True,” he said slowly, “this could be considered an act of vandalism…  Those guilty of vandalism are expected to make full restitution of damages incurred in addition to paying a fine equal to 20% the cost of restitutions.  At that point, any items seized as a result of the incident could be returned to the vandal…”  
          There was a long silence as Harry and Ginny considered this information.  Finally, Ginny spoke.  “I was young at the time,” she said slowly, “young people often do crazy things they regret later.  There was never an intention to break into your establishment.  I truly regret having _defaced_ one of the pillars of Gringotts and wish to make amends…”  
          Griphook stared at Ginny intently for a full minute as if judging the depth of her sincerity.  Finally he slid off his chair and stood up.  “One moment, please,” he said and walked to the door.  Harry watched as the door slid silently open.  Griphook stepped through and the door closed quietly behind him.  Then the other door opened and Griphook stepped into the main part of the bank.  Soon, his small figure vanished amidst the inky depths of another part of the bank.  
          Neither Ginny nor Harry spoke in Griphook’s absence.  Harry squeezed Ginny’s hand reassuringly as they waited.  Presently, Griphook returned.  He carried a small scroll rolled up in his hand, which he wordlessly presented to Ginny.  
          “What’s this?” she asked as she unrolled the scroll.  
          “Your bill,” Griphook replied calmly.  “Cost of restitution, plus 20%.”  
          Ginny held the scroll in such a way that Harry could not read it but her face paled as she looked at the numbers.  “And this?” asked Ginny pointing to another figure on the page.  
          “The fee for 26 years of storage and vault usage,” he explained.  “There is no charge for the information,” Griphook added. “We are happy to be rid of the wand carrier’s obscenity.”  
          Ginny rolled the scroll up carefully.  “Thank you,” she said calmly clutching the roll tightly in her hand. Harry longed to know the bill, but knew this was not the time.  It did not matter.  He would gladly give everything he owned to insure the plaque was destroyed.  The very thought of its existence had given him nightmares ever since Ginny first mentioned it. “I would like to take care of this bill now, if you please,” added Ginny standing up.  
          “Certainly,” replied Griphook giving a short bow.  “But as the “obscenity” is rather bulky,” he added smoothly, “perhaps you would like to come back _alone_ at a later date to make arrangements for its “safe” removal…”  Griphook looked pointedly at Harry with his piercing black eyes as he spoke.  
          Harry felt his face warm at the veiled suggestion he keep away from the “obscenity.”  Plainly Griphook knew it was more than a simple case of vandalism.  But now that Harry knew the plaque was in the bank, he did not want to leave without it in their possession.  Unfortunately, Griphook was right; Harry couldn’t afford to be involved in the plaque’s transportation.  Harry looked out the transparent wall seeking a solution.  He smiled grimly and then spoke.  “Perhaps the assistance of my friends would be sufficient to insure the object’s safe transportation…”  
          Griphook’s gaze followed Harry’s out the window.  Ron and Hermione had come inside the bank and were actively looking about.  The silver bands they wore on their wrists made them easy to recognize even in the dim light.  “Yes,” said Griphook thoughtfully while giving his beard several strokes.  “I think _they_ might be trusted to keep it safe—from you!” he added suddenly turning his head to look directly into Harry’s eyes.  “As it is _your_ green eyes, I think, for which it waits…”  
          Both Harry and Ginny froze at his words.  Harry met Griphook’s gaze squarely.  He neither confirmed nor denied the suggestion. There was no point.  
          Then Ginny spoke.  “I should like to make my payment now, if you please,” she said calmly, “ _and_ make arrangements for its transportation.  I’ll ask Hermione to accompany me,” she told Harry.  
          “As you wish,” said Griphook bowing again and then moving to the door. “Follow me.”  The door opened and the two of them left leaving Harry alone in the room.

*********************

          Harry stared glumly out the wall watching Ginny and Griphook walk away.  He longed to go with them but knew he shouldn’t.  Hermione and Ron spotted Ginny immediately. The two went over to meet her.  They stood together for a while with Griphook standing politely to one side.  Then another goblin joined the group.  Ginny and Hermione followed Griphook to the back of the caves.  The second goblin headed in a direction straight towards Harry.  Ron followed.  In a few minutes the doors slid open—first one, and then, after it closed, the other.  
          “Uh, hi,” said Ron to Harry stepping in behind the goblin.  Harry acknowledged the greeting with a nod of his head.  The goblin bowed briefly, stepped behind Ron and exited. The doors closed quietly, one after another, behind him.  
          Ron looked uncomfortably around noting the details of the room, in particular clear wall and the goblin now vanishing from sight.  “I’ve uh,” he began tentatively while taking a step forward, “been asked to keep you company,” he concluded standing guiltily in front of Harry.               
          “You mean “keep an eye on me,” don’t you?” replied Harry bluntly.  
          “Yeah, well, that too,” admitted Ron shamefacedly knowing Harry was proud and would never want anyone to “watch him.” “But it’s for your own good!” Ron continued in a rush.  
          “Yeah, thanks,” retorted Harry bitterly the frustration within coming out. “You said it before, like I’d be dumb enough to go out there now…”  
          “Lookit!” said Ron earnestly drawing up the nearby chair and sitting down to face Harry.  “Hermione thinks it was a divided spell!”              
          “A what?” asked Harry not really caring.  
          “She thinks the power of the original spell was divided by the number of plaques.  And as each plaque is destroyed, the remaining plaques become even stronger!  With the other plaques gone, we don’t know how strong this last one will be!”  
          “Oh,” replied Harry dumbly not knowing what else to say.  
          “And not only that,” continued Ron taking advantage of Harry’s silence, “it’s you!”  
          “Me?”  
          “Yeah,” continued Ron in a rush.  “If you did somehow manage to touch that thing, we don’t know what would happen should you end up in that room!”  
          “Of course we do!” retorted Harry not wanting to think about that room.  
          “I mean,” explained Ron, “it’s one thing if Albus or Vernon end up in that chair, but what would happen if it were actually you?  Watching yourself die like that!  Would there be anyone _alive_ for Holly to rescue?”  
          Harry lowered his face in his hands.  “I’ve wondered that myself,” he confessed softly, the frustration replaced by worry and concern.  He looked up at Ron.  “I probably haven’t said this in a while,” Harry added, “but thanks.”  
          “Well,” said Ron gruffly while looking away.  “That’s what friends are for,” he muttered.  He hated emotional stuff as much as Harry.  “That didn’t take long,” commented Ron suddenly.  
          Harry looked and saw Ginny and Hermione walking into view.  “Blimey!” exclaimed Ron.  “What did they do?  Remove the whole pillar?”  Griphook had appeared behind Hermione and beside him were several goblins wheeling a very long crate!  
          “It would seem so!” agreed Harry judging the length of the crate was about as long as a full-length marble pillar...  “Griphook did say it was rather bulky…”  
          “And then some!” said Ron.  “Uh, I think I’d better check on this… You stay here, O.K?” Ron instructed while standing.  
          “Yeah,” said Harry with resignation.  “I’ll be waiting.”  
           And Ron left the room, the double doors slid open silently when Ron stood in front of them.  
          Harry watched gloomily as Ron went to join Ginny and Hermione.  It took nearly every ounce of control to not join them.  Harry didn’t know if that was due to his own stubborn nature and intense desire to be involved, to insure the plaque was destroyed, or if the plaque was somehow calling him from within the crate.  After a while, the group separated. Ginny remained with the goblins and the crate, Hermione headed out the front entrance and Ron again walked towards Harry.  Another goblin accompanied him.  Harry wondered idly if it were possible to enter the room without a goblin present.  
           “Apparently there’s some back exit we can use,” began Ron when the goblin had left, “so we won’t have to go through Diagon Alley carting that thing.”  Harry nodded.  That made sense. “Don’t know if we can Apparate with it, though,” continued Ron thoughtfully.  “If we can’t, it should be fun to watch Stan stuff it in the trunk of his taxi…” Harry nodded again, with a ghost of a smile on his lips.  That would be rather interesting to watch.  Ron looked back towards Ginny.  Harry looked too. He noted that Hermione had returned; the two were standing besides the long crate.  “Uh,” Ron continued while looking back at Harry.  “Give us, say, an hour, to get it moved and stored and then meet us back at your place. O.K.?”  
           “Right,” said Harry sourly.  As if he wanted to stay here an hour…  
           “And, uh,” Ron looked distinctively uncomfortable as he spoke, “knock first…”  
           “Knock!” exploded Harry rising from his chair.  “It’s my own house! I shouldn’t have to knock!”  
           “Hey,” said Ron disarmingly, “we’re just trying to be safe!  You can’t fault us for that!”  Ron put his hands on Harry’s shoulders and pushed him firmly back down in the chair. “I’d stay with you,” Ron added, “but, it’s gonna take all three of us to get it out of here.”  
          “Stay with me!” retorted Harry angrily, “it’s like you don’t trust me any more!”  
          “We _do_ trust you!” said Ron placatingly.  “We are trusting you to stay right here for an hour, and then come straight home!  This is too important to play games, Harry,” Ron told him.  “Don’t make it harder on all of us than it already is!”  
          “All right,” said Harry grudgingly.  “I’ll wait.”  
          “Thanks,” said Ron looking relieved at Harry’s response.  He straightened.  “I’ll see you in an hour,” he said cheerfully and walked back outside.  
          Harry watched glumly as Ron joined up with Ginny and Hermione.  Surely he had better things to do with his time than sit at Gringotts for an hour…  
          A goblin entered the room carrying a huge hourglass.  Funny, Harry hadn’t noticed him approaching.  The goblin set the hourglass down on the table in front of Harry.  The hourglass was an ornate piece of goblin workmanship.  It was nearly a meter in height.  The bottom half was filled with yellow sand.  The base seemed to be made of silver.  The hourglass frame was crafted out of silver sprinkled with glittering rubies and sapphires.  Harry could also make out a series of numbers in gold worked into the design.  “For your convenience, sir,” said the goblin blandly.  “How long will you be waiting?”  
          How long?  _“Not at all!”_ was Harry’s immediate reaction.  But if he knew Hermione, she had probably gotten someone to watch the bank and follow him should he decide to leave.  Harry sighed.  “An hour,” he replied with resignation.  
          “Very well,” said the goblin.  His long fingers pressed the numbers “6” and “0” on the base of the hourglass.  Immediately, the neck of the glass began to widen a bit.  When the neck stopped moving.  The goblin lifted the hourglass and turned it over.  The fine yellow sand began to move through the opening at a measured rate.  It glittered and sparkled as it fell.  
          _“No!”_ thought Harry suddenly.  Knowing goblins, it probably wasn’t sand but dust—gold dust!  
          The goblin stood impassively at the other end of the table.  He gave no indication of sitting or leaving.  
          “Are you here to make sure I stay?” asked Harry curiously while studying the goblin.  
          “Of course not!” replied the goblin imperiously looking down upon Harry with his glittering black eyes.  “You may leave whenever you wish.  It is of no concern of mine.”  
          “Then why are you here?”  
          “I am here to make sure you don’t leave with the hourglass,” he responded icily.  “You wand carriers have a tendency to take things that are not yours…”  The goblin glared, as if challenging Harry to argue otherwise.  
           “Oh,” Harry replied not knowing what else to say.  He had no desire to debate wizard honesty with a goblin.  Harry looked around and sighed as he slumped back into this chair.  He watched the glittering gold drop through the hourglass making a soft rounded mound on the other side.  It was going to be a long hour...

*********************

          Exactly one hour and ten minutes later Harry Apparated on the front steps outside number twelve Grimmauld Place.  He took a deep breath, reached out and grabbed the twisted silver snake doorknocker.  Harry gave the door a single rap and it swung open.  Ron stood in the doorway; he had been obviously waiting for Harry.  
          “Your wand!” Ron said bluntly while holding out his hand.  
          “What?” said Harry surprised.  
          “I mean it!” said Ron grimly.  “Give me your wand _now_ or you won’t get inside!”  And he moved his tall body so it blocked Harry’s way into the house.  
          “Why?” asked Harry while slowly drawing out his wand.  Harry looked from his wand to Ron uncertainly.  Ron’s manner had totally changed.  He was dead serious and not at all apologetic.  
          “Albus made a beeline straight for the crate after we arrived,” said Ron without preamble.  
          “What?” exclaimed Harry as the colour drained rapidly from his face.  “No!  Did he…?”  
          “No!” replied Ron. “It was still wrapped and we got him away before he could do any damage, but he didn’t have his wand either.  Who knows what he would have attempted had he been carrying it!”  
          “Is he all right?” began Harry while he handed Ron his wand.  He felt naked without it but here was no question in giving it to him now.  
          “He’s fine,” reassured Ron while tucking Harry’s wand out of sight.  “We’ve got all your kids over at the Burrow now.  Ginny told Kreacher to stick by Albus’ side like glue and make sure he stays away until this is all over!”  
          “What, ah, what exactly happened?” Harry asked his heart pounding wildly.  He was trying hard to not berate Ron for putting his son in danger.  
          “We were in the living room with the doors all closed and were going to examine it while you weren’t there,” Ron began.  “None of us gave Albus a thought knowing you have to look into the plaque first before touching it and Albus was nowhere near…  We had just gotten the crate opened and were starting to dig out the packing material when all of the sudden Albus burst into the room!  I couldn’t think what he was up to; your kids never barge in that way especially with the door closed.  Anyway, Albus practically plowed through Ginny on his way to the crate!  That’s when Hermione grabbed his arm and Apparated him over to the Burrow!  I’ve never seen anything like that!” Ron added.  “Afterwards, Albus said he couldn’t remember a thing!  He said he was headed for the kitchen for a bite to eat and the next thing he remembered was finding himself at the Burrow!  You feel any strange urges,” Ron asked suddenly while staring intently at Harry.  
           “Like what?” asked Harry.  “Do I feel an urge to go inside where it’s less public?  Yes!  But do I feel like hunting out a long wooden box, no!”  
          “Good!” said Ron backing slowly away so Harry could enter.  “Hermione figures both you and Albus are partially spelled because you saw the one in the trophy room!  In other words, the plaque already knows you have green eyes!  So now it just wants you to touch it!  I know this may seem like overkill, mate,” Ron added as Harry walked inside, “but better safe than sorry.  You didn’t see Albus’ face when he was near the crate!  It was scary!  We’ve re-crated it, by the way, but we’re not sure that’s enough to block its influence now that it’s been opened.  Don’t even ask me where it is,” Ron added, “because I don’t know and you’re not to go looking for it.  Actually,” Ron confessed as he shut the door, “I was for not letting you in at all, except we decided it’s better to know where you are at all times than not.”  
          “Thanks,” said Harry dryly not sure how to respond to a comment like that.  He stood on one side in the hallway uncertain what to do next.  
          “Everyone is in the drawing room,” said Ron leading the way.  “We’ve been waiting for you so we can decide what to do next.”


	29. Chapter 29

          The waves lapped gently upon the beach.  It was a rather small crescent shaped beach rimmed by huge craggy black cliffs making access by land difficult if not impossible. The tide was low but the bright moonlight revealed only a few black rocks on the pale expanse of sand.  
          A loud _“crack!”_ occurred interrupting the normal night sounds of waves and breeze and a tall woman with pale hair dressed in black robes appeared on the middle of the beach.  _“Lumnos!”_ she whispered and then held her lighted wand high overhead.  
          As she stood looking around, a second figure, a tall man, emerged from within the shadows of the cliff.  Also wearing robes, the man strode forward to meet the woman.  “Is it all clear?” the woman asked the man when he neared.  
          “Yes,” replied Neville Longbottom. “I’ve been here all day; the wards are in place and there’s no one around.  Do you know what this is about, Luna?” he asked curiously.  
           “I expect we’ll learn soon enough,” she replied serenely, her silver eyes glowing in the moonlight.  Neville could just make out three silvery gray moth clips fluttering gently while holding her long hair in place.  “I’ve got to go and let them know,” she told him.  
          Neville nodded and with a loud _“crack!”_ Luna vanished.  A few minutes later Luna reappeared at the far side of the beach with two other people.  Between them was an extremely long box.  Luna again lit her wand and its light enabled Neville to easily recognize the other two people as Ginny and Hermione.  The box was a long crate strapped down with several chains and padlocks.  Luna walked over to Neville, leaving the other two behind.  “Harry’s going to explain things,” she told him.  “He should be arriving soon.”  
          Neville nodded. That made sense.  Neville had been in Brazil collecting plants.  A few days ago he had gotten an owl from Harry asking if he would be available to help with something of “importance.”  The letter was rather vague with no further explanation, but that was Harry’s way.  He rarely explained anything, especially not in writing.  Harry was also not one to exaggerate or ask for help lightly so Neville penned a quick note back: “When, where, doing what?”  Then he hastily packed up all his Brazilian plant specimens and headed back to Great Britain.  
          A second owl arrived at Neville's house carrying a map of northern Scotland.  It had a small beach marked out and came with instructions to watch the beach on a specific day keeping it clear of Muggles, witches and wizards…  So Neville had gone to the beach.  So far, the assignment had been fairly dull and seemingly of little importance.  Neither Muggles nor other visitors had shown any interest in the area.  A few fishing boats had passed by in the distance but that was about it.  It hadn’t been a wasted day though; Neville had found several useful herbs growing among the plants on the top of the cliffs.  
          A loud _“crack!”_ sounded on the beach.  Neville turned towards the sound.  He recognized Harry’s tall form and Ron’s even taller figure standing on the opposite side of the beach, the side furtherest from Ginny and Hermione.  Luna raised her wand and started walking towards them; Neville joined Luna matching his pace with hers.  
          “Do you feel anything?”  Neville heard Ron ask Harry anxiously as they approached.  
          “No I don’t,” replied Harry.    
          “Good,” said Ron and his whole body seemed to relax a bit as he let go of Harry’s arm.  Neville realized with amazement that Harry hadn’t used his wand to Apparate!  What was that about?  
          “Hello, Neville, Luna,” said Harry warmly walking up to the two.  “It’s good to see you.  Thank you for being here.”  
          “It’s always nice to be helpful,” replied Luna in her vague way.  
          “What’s this all about?” asked Neville being more direct.  
          Harry reached up and readjusted his glasses before speaking.  “That crate over there,” he began nodding his head in the direction of the crate, “contains another plaque—”  
          “Plaque?” whispered Luna in a questioning voice.  
          “Yeah,” said Harry, “like the one in the trophy room!”  
          “Another one?” exclaimed Neville whistling in surprise.  He well remembered the night when Holly and Albus had gone missing only to be found again behind a plaque inside the wall at Hogwarts.  
           “Um, actually,” corrected Harry dryly, “it’s a third one.”  
          “That would mean the “blonde” you were seen with two weeks ago was Miss Wycliff!” observed Luna calmly as she turned her attention towards Ron. Two moths fluttered off her hair and started circling her wand.  Ron looked down and away, uncomfortably, without responding.  “I hope she’s O.K.,” continued Luna ignoring his reaction.  
          “She’s fine!” said Ron defensively.  “But how’d you know?”  
          “One can learn much from the rumors,” replied Luna serenely.  “Of course I never believed you were there because of a tragic affair with someone much younger than yourself...”  And Neville remembered reading something about Ron in the _Daily Prophet._   It was a rather nasty article in the gossip column about how the Potters were so powerful they were able to close off the Hospital to hide their dirty little secrets…  Knowing Harry and Ron, Neville hadn’t believed any of it—but now...  A hospital implied more than just finding a plaque.  Neville wondered immediately what had made Holly touch the plaque, certain Albus would never go near one again…  Where had it been located anyway?  
          “Yeah, well Ginny wants to try to break the curse,” said Harry returning the topic of discussion to the plaque in front of them.  That crate was awfully large for the tiny heart-shaped plaque Neville remembered.  “She thinks it will help her get her memory back,” he added explaining.  “And I,” he added hesitantly, “I want to see, no, I _need_ to see that it’s destroyed—need to know it won’t hurt anyone ever!”  
          “I can see why you’d want to do that,” replied Luna calmly as she reached up, caught one of the wayward moth clips and returned it to her hair, “but how does all that involve us?”  
          “Yes,” agreed Neville nodding.  
          “He’s the problem!” broke in Ron while glancing at Harry.  “You see he’s _seen_ it before!”  
          Neville and Luna looked to Harry for further explanation.  “This one’s, uh, somehow connected to the one we saw in the trophy room,” began Harry looking uncomfortable.  “So I am likely to try to touch it the moment it is uncovered…  And it’s stronger than that other one,” he added.  “Remember how you had to hold me back to keep from touching it?” Harry asked Neville.  Neville nodded, remembering.  “Well, I want you and Ron to do that again—keep me away from this one no matter what! If anyone can hang onto me,” he added, “I know it will be you and Ron.”  Neville nodded confidently.  He and Ron should be able to handle Harry.  
          “And you, Luna,” continued Harry while looking directly at Luna.  She had returned the third moth clip back to her hair.  It now fluttered its wings on the top of her head like a big bow.  “I’d like you to be with Hermione on the other side with the plaque and help Ginny if she needs it.  We’ve looked up everything we can on the subject but it’s not enough. Ginny’s no Auror and has no idea what she’s doing.  I understand why she wants to do this and it’s important to her,” Harry added, his voice softening with worry, “but this is basically something created by Lord Voldemort which means it’s some pretty nasty powerful magic.  It could be booby-trapped too.  I hope breaking the curse isn’t going to kill Ginny in the process.  
          “You and Hermione are basically back-up,” Harry continued.  “If I somehow get past Ron and Neville, I want you to use your wand to stop me any way you can!  And if something happens to Ginny or she can’t do it, you’ve got to help Ginny, of course, but more importantly, help Hermione get that thing out of here before I get to it.  Then you’ve got to find a way to destroy it,” he stated.  “If you can’t do it then take it to the Ministry or something and let the Aurors destroy it, if they can, but stay there personally to make sure it’s done! I don’t want it surfacing fifty years from now to plague an unsuspecting relative.”  
          “You can count on me,” said Luna.  
          “Me too,” said Neville earnestly.  He vividly remembered Albus’ account of his experiences in that room.  That was scary enough.  But Holly had never explained the particulars of her visit to the trophy room.  That she had refused to do so spoke volumes.  Neville was certain there was more to the story than a black room behind a plaque—much more—and none of it good.  He would not let Harry near the plaque no matter what.  
          “Thanks,” said Harry looking visibly relieved.  “I can’t tell you how much this means to me…  You got any questions?”  
_“Questions?”_ thought Neville, _“I’ve loads of them!”_   But none about what he would be doing tonight.  “No,” Neville reluctantly said out loud.  Maybe when this was all over, he could corner Harry and get him to answer some of the other questions…  
          “Me neither,” said Luna shaking her head.  
          “Then I guess that’s it for now,” said Harry.  “Luna,” he added, “you can tell Hermione and Ginny that we’re ready whenever they are.”  
          “O.K.” said Luna calmly.  Her moth clips fluttered gently about her head as she turned.  
          “Um, Luna?” said Ron.  
          “Yes?” she stopped and turned.  
          “Here—you’d better take this and give it to Hermione.”  And Ron held out his wand to her.  “I don’t want any temptation near Harry…” he added explaining.  Luna gingerly took the wand and looked at it carefully.  
          “Here,” said Neville following Ron’s lead and reluctantly pulling out his own wand.  If both Ron and Harry were deadly serious about all this, they probably had good reason.  “I guess you’d better take mine too,” added Neville handing the wand to Luna.  “Take good care of it,” he told her.  
          “I will,” she replied. Then Luna pocketed the two wands and walked across the sand to Hermione and Ginny.

*********************

          Ginny Potter pulled her robe tighter against the breeze and the night air.  She wasn’t cold, but it was something to do.  Mostly, she was nervous, and scared.  She had to do this; she just _had_ to!  But could she?  
          “You can do this!” said Hermione reassuringly sensing Ginny’s worry.  “I know you can!  After all, you broke the curse at the tree!”  
          Ginny nodded but she didn’t feel any better.  There were lives on the line that time and that curse wasn’t nearly as strong—it hadn’t called to Harry from a distance like this one would!  Ginny could still remember Albus’ grim determination as he charged into the room...  This plaque was infinitely stronger and it scared her a lot.  Ginny shivered and rewrapped the robe around her.  
          “It looks like they’re done,” commented Hermione.  
          Ginny looked and saw that Luna had separated from the others.  Holding her lit wand high, she had begun to walk in their direction.  Ginny and Hermione her approach in silence.  
          “Ron asked you to hold this for him,” said Luna to Hermione holding out Ron’s wand when she neared the two.  
          “Thank you,” said Hermione solemnly taking the wand and putting it carefully away.  
          “And Harry says they’re ready whenever you are…” she added calmly.  “What’s next?”  
          “Well,” began Hermione, “you extinguish your wand so you can be ready to use it on the locks.  Luna complied instantly and Ginny immediately felt blinded by the sudden darkness.  
          “And next?” asked Luna her voice sounding its usual calm.  
          “We wait until our eyes adjust to the darkness,” said Hermione.  “There’s enough moonlight for our purposes,” she explained, “and I don’t want to attract more attention to our activities than necessary.”  
          So the three waited standing silently together listening to the wind blow past and the waves lap gently upon the beach.  Gradually, Ginny could again make out the faces of the people near her, the delicate curve of Hermione’s wavy hair and Luna’s silvery eyes that regarded her with concern.  A short distance off, Ginny could see the details of the crate—the several chains wrapped around it secured by five padlocks gleaming in the moonlight, the long lines of the wood that made up the crate.  Further away, she saw the curvy line that separated the shining surface of the ocean from the beach, the black of the few stones that marred the pale white ground.  
          In the distance, just barely visible against the inky darkness of the cliffs, Ginny could make out the shadowy shapes of Harry, Ron and Neville.  Ginny would have recognized Harry, the tall slender figure in the middle, anywhere.  Ron, the tallest of the three, stood on the cliff side of Harry and Neville, nearly as tall but wider in the shoulders stood on the other.  
          Ginny was glad Neville had come to help.  If Harry came after the plaque as Albus had done earlier, it would require both Neville and Ron to hold him back.  Maybe even they would not be enough.  Unknown to Ron or Harry, Neville and Ron were only the first line of defense.  Hermione and Ginny had placed all sorts of wards and spells within the rocks and sand of the beach to keep Harry and the plaque apart.  Hopefully, they wouldn’t be needed.  
          Harry, Neville and Ron did not move—no doubt waiting to see what would happen next.  Ginny did not move either; all six people stood silently on the beach watching each other, listening silently to the wind and the waves.  
          Finally, Luna spoke up.  “This is a very dangerous thing you would attempt,” she began softly.  “You could fail or die,” she added in her serene voice.  “You’ve a family to think of,” Luna continued.  “It is not necessary for you to try this.  No one would think less of you should you decide to let others, more experienced and qualified, take over the responsibility of destroying the plaque.”  
          In the following silence, Ginny pondered Luna’s words. She knew all of them were true—and Ginny was so scared inside.  She took one last glance at the peaceful world around her, gulped and took a deep breath before replying.  “But I would think less of myself,” Ginny said clearly while keeping her voice low and slow so it would sound calm.  “I made it,” Ginny added quietly while forcing aside her fears.  “Who better to take it apart?”  
          Both Hermione and Luna nodded silently.  
          “Now,” said Ginny with determination, “let’s get this done!”

*********************

          Ginny took a deep breath and a step back. “Hermione, Luna,” she said addressing them firmly. This was her show now and they were here to help. “When the box is opened, I want you to remove the column and set it over there,” she said pointing to a clear spot on the sand on the side of the crate furtherest from Harry. “That way I can have total access to it. I’m going to have to touch the plaque directly,” she added explaining.  
          “Column?” questioned Luna faintly.  
          “Column,” replied Ginny firmly.  “I put it up at Gringotts!” she confessed.  
          “An excellent location,” mused Luna thoughtfully moving forward to study Hermione’s locks.  “Much better than the trophy room,” she added.  “But I saw Harry in Diagon Alley frequently the next summer.  He would have surely seen it then were it there.  What happened?”  
          “The goblins removed it,” replied Ginny tersely.  “They thought it was bad for business!”  Ron was still grumbling about how humiliating it was to think they owed their lives to the prudence and thrift of goblins!  And they did!  For there would have been no green-eyed Holly to reverse the curse had Harry touched it that year.  
          “A cursed plaque _would_ be rather bad for business,” agreed Luna serenely while straightening.  _“Alohomora?”_ she asked Hermione.  
          “Yes,” Hermione agreed.  “I’ll do the one in the middle first,” she began.  “Then you take the two on that end,” she said pointing, “and I’ll take the other two.”  
          “Anything else?” asked Luna looking at Ginny.  Luna had her wand extended ready for use.  
          Ginny thought rapidly.  “Um, just keep an eye on Harry,” she replied.  “I can’t afford to be worrying about him too.”  
          “We can do that,” agreed Luna and Hermione nodded as well.  
          “Ready?” asked Hermione as she pointed her wand at the middle lock.  
          “Ready,” replied Luna while pointing her own wand at a different lock. Then the two looked over at Ginny.  
          Ginny looked back at the two determined faces waiting for her word.  She knew they would do whatever they could to help but in the end, it was all up to her.  Inside Ginny was anything _but_ ready.  Unfortunately, she realized that she would never truly be “ready” for something like this and would probably never be more “ready” than she was now.  Ginny tightened her grip on her wand, walked over to the area she had indicated for the placement of the column and took a deep breath.  “Ready,” she grimly replied sounding more confident than she felt.  Then Ginny commanded: “Open it!”

*********************

_“Alohomora!”_ Hermione shouted pointing her wand at the middle lock.  The lock sprang open and the chains it held slid to the ground.  
_“Alohomora!”_ shouted Luna and a second lock sprang open.  
          One by one the locks sprang open and the chains slithered to the ground.  Then Hermione waived her wand and the nails holding the crate secure sprang out.  Next, the long lid floated gently into the air.  
          Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny could see movement in the distance.  As expected, Harry had started forward.  Would it be a mindless attempt to reach the plaque or something more?  
          From the start, Hermione had feared the plaque would prey on Harry’s mind much like the Horcruxes Lord Voldemort had created.  She was afraid the partially completed spell would work on Harry’s subconscious encouraging him to find a way to the plaque drawing him ever nearer eventually compelling Harry to touch and finish the spell.  The very act of seeking out the plaque and removing it from goblin care could have been done due to subconscious prompting of the spell…  Hermione acted accordingly and insisted that one of the three stay with Harry at all times until the plaque was destroyed.  Nor would Hermione let Harry learn any details of their plans for the plaque’s destruction insisting he might somehow unconsciously try to sabotage them.  
          Harry hadn’t liked the restrictions Hermione placed, but to object only lent support to her fears.  Instead, Harry had insisted they make it possible for him to be present at its destruction.  It was horribly risky, but Harry wouldn’t be denied.  
          “Besides,” as Ron later put it, “it was probably better to have Harry with them than to leave Harry on his own while they tried to destroy the plaque.”  Curse or not, they all knew Harry would be sure to find a way to be present at its destruction running the risk of touching the plaque in the process.  
          The last week had been difficult for all of them.  Harry was a person of action and Ginny could tell it hurt to let others do the planning and acting for him.  The burden of watching Harry had fallen mostly upon Ron.  That freed Ginny and Hermione to research how to destroy cursed items and visit various beaches they thought might suit their needs—protected, remote and isolated.  Ron accepted the roll of watcher with fairly good graces but the forced confinement with Harry was wearing and tempers had gotten thin.  
          The lid landed gently on the sand next to the crate.  Next came the column itself.  Ginny watched as it rose slowly from the crate.  Dark wood curls, goblin packing, drifted back down into the crate.  More blew off the top of the column landing on the ground nearby.  Hermione and Luna pointed their wands and the heavy column moved forward in Ginny’s direction.  It was a long straight white column with a stone base and ornate carvings on each end.  
          Ginny anxiously scanned the white surface for the patch of black that would be the plaque.  She couldn’t see anything.  It had to be there! Albus and Harry wouldn’t have reacted the way they did otherwise.  “I can’t see it!” she told the others.  “Turn the column!”  And the column rotated slowly around so she could see the other side.  Still nothing! What should she do?  “Keep spinning it!” she instructed while pocketing her wand.  Nothing!  What now?  
          “Set it down,” Ginny told them in frustration.  It had to be there! Perhaps it was invisible.  The column landed gently in the sand.  Ginny studied the column.  Where would she have put it?  Somewhere about one to two meters up from the base, she decided—within eye level and easy hand reach.  Ginny moved forward and stretched out both her hands to touch the column.  Surely she would feel it.  Slowly she moved her hands along the surface of the column.  It felt smooth and cold with no change in texture.  
          Wait a minute!  Was that something? _“No,”_ Ginny decided.  Nothing at all.  She continued her search.  Wait!  No.  Ginny’s fingers could detect no difference…  Wait!  No… Discouraged, Ginny glanced over at Harry—it looked like he was down on the ground with both Ron and Neville on top—the plaque had to be here!  Ginny continued to search.  She had to find it—she just had to!  Wait!  No.  
          “You have hesitated at the same place four times now,” observed the calm voice of Luna.  “It has a memory charm.”  
          _“Of course!”_ thought Ginny.  That’s how he expected to place it in so public a place without it being noticed and removed!  See it and forget!  
          “Close your eyes,” suggested Hermione.  “We’ll guide your hands.”  
          “They’re closed,” Ginny told them and she again ran her hands over the column.  
          “Stop!” commanded Luna.  Ginny froze, her hands resting lightly on the marble.  “That’s the place.”  
          Ginny frowned with her eyes tightly closed.  It felt no different than any other place!  How was she supposed to destroy the plaque if she couldn’t find it!  Her left hand balled up into a fist and she pounded the column in frustration.  Again and again she pounded the column. The pain shot up her wrist and arm. _"PAIN!"_ she thought suddenly!  There had been pain!  Ginny changed the direction of her fist ramming it straight into the column knuckle first.  She smashed her fist into the column a second time, and a third stopping only when she could feel a warm wetness trickle down her fingers.  
          Opening her eyes, Ginny stared down at the blood covering her fist while focusing on the pain she had caused…  
_“Why didn’t you come to me sooner?” asked mum with concern while looking down in shock at the long slice in Ginny’s hand.  Ginny only shook her head in confusion, the tears streamed down her face.  “This should have been taken care of hours ago,” continued mum.  “How did it happen, dear?”_  
_“I don’t know, mum, “ Ginny sobbed while her hand throbbed painfully.  “I can’t remember!”_  
          Ginny removed her other hand from the column and smeared it with her blood.  Without looking, she returned the bloodied hand, palm side down, to the column.  Suddenly she could feel something familiar and cold, a deep cold that seemed to freeze her very insides.  Opening her eyes, Ginny could see it—a spidery web of silver tarnished black by the blood!  Ginny repositioned her hand so her palm fit on the center of the web.  Then she pushed.  The hard marble surface was unyielding.  Ginny pushed again, harder.  But nothing happened.  “No!” moaned Ginny in frustration.  _“How do I get it?  How had I done it before?”_  
           That had been a topic of much discussion when they realized a third plaque was out there.  Unfortunately, all Ginny could remember was how afraid she had felt—how worried she was that two innocent children might die because of her!  Everything else had just sort of happened.   
          “You’re a mother now, Gin!” commented Harry when he heard Ginny’s story.  “And you care.  He doesn’t understand love!” continued Harry.  “It’s his weakness.  It’s the one thing you’ll always be better at than him…”  
          _“Love!”_ thought Ginny determinedly.  _“I love Harry and I love my family!”_   A familiar sensation of distain and nausea washed over her.  Gulping, Ginny pushed down on the web again, it seemed as if the hard marble surface softened beneath her fingers.  _“I can’t let them down,”_ she insisted to herself.  _“I can’t leave this around to torment them!”_ Ginny continued to push.  
          “Harry must never be able to touch this!” she told herself with determination fixing his handsome face in her mind and the love she felt for him, remembering the lurch she felt in her stomach when Albus said Harry had died; and the web began to feel more and more like cold slimy ooze between her fingers.  “Nor Albus!” Ginny added seeing again his determined face when he reached the crate and her sudden fear for his safety.  And Ginny pushed her hand even deeper into the icy slime, forcing her fingers to move through the disgusting gooey sensations.  “Or Holly!” Ginny included remembering that pale slim form lying ever so still covered in the dust almost buried by rubble.  Holly had been near death when Ginny reached her!  How could Ginny let them risk their lives like that because of her!  
          Ginny continued to push but at some point sensed she could push no more.  She tried to close her hand into a fist but the cold goo seemed more like icy tar, uncooperative and unmovable between her fingers.  
          “Grab his legs!” came Ron’s voice from a distance interrupting her concentration.  
          “Harry!” said Ginny her eyes widening with desperation and panic.  “He mustn’t touch it!” and she plunged her other hand deeply into the goo.  
_"Of course it won’t hurt, Ginny,” whispered Tom Riddle in her head. “I’ll protect you from the pain.  You’re my friend, aren’t you?  Friends help each other and I’m doing this for you.  When Harry finds out what you’ve done he’ll be so impressed!”_  
          “NO!” shouted Ginny as she watched her younger self press the knife determinedly into her palm.  “He lies!” she told herself as she saw the blood ooze from the slice.  Ginny clasped her hands together and started to pull.  
_“You can do it, Ginny,” whispered Tom persuasively. “I’m your friend and I want to help you!  I know you want to see Harry’s house.  You might even see Harry while you’re there!  Wouldn’t that be exciting?  It’s only the Knight Bus,” he continued, “you won’t be recognized in your brother’s clothing…  No one will know you’ve gone…  We can even leave him a little gift…”_  
          “NO!” screamed Ginny as a more slender, but now familiar, tree trunk loomed closer and closer ahead…  With renewed energy Ginny pulled harder and harder.  
_“It’s the perfect place, Ginny,” encouraged Tom as she stared at the wall.  “He’ll be sure to see it when he comes to school…”_  
          More thoughts and images floated to the surface.  
_“It’s just you and me, Ginny,” whispered Tom.  “That’s why I’m helping you.  Nobody else is your friend.  Nobody else cares about you like I do.  Together we can do this!  We can make Harry notice you!  You’ll see—everything will be better…”_  
          Sobbing, Ginny continued to pull.  _“You can do this, Ginny, I know you can …  I only want the best for you…”_  
          “Lies! All lies!” Ginny shouted to herself.  “You mean to destroy us all!”  And Ginny pulled with all her might.  
_“You don’t have to study, Ginny” Tom whispered reassuringly.  “I’ll help you.  I’m your friend.  I’ll always be there to help you…”_  
_“I know the answers to these questions, Ginny.  Don’t worry.  I’ll help you.  That’s what friends are for!”_  
_“Look at how high your scores are!  Your brothers will be impressed!  Your mum and dad will be so proud...”_  
          “I’m the lie!” sobbed Ginny remembering all the tests and papers Tom helped her write, all the assignments Tom helped her complete and all his advice she had followed. Ginny stopped pulling and closed her eyes overwhelmed by the memories.  
_“You don’t need them, Ginny,” assured Tom, “their words mean nothing.  They aren’t really your friends, not like me…”_  
_“I’ll protect you, Ginny,” whispered Tom.  “I’ll make sure your bothers don’t tease you any more…  I’m your friend; friends look out for each other!”_  
_“You’ve too many brothers competing for attention.  Your mum just doesn’t notice you like she should, Ginny,” consoled Tom, “but I do!  Only I know how truly wonderful you are…”_  
          “I’m nothing!” Ginny moaned consumed by her miseries.  “Tom created me and I’m nothing without him!”  She dropped her head in defeat.  
          “Mum?”  
          The word pierced Ginny’s brain like a dagger interrupting her downward mental spiral.  Ginny’s eyes flew open and she lifted her head in the direction of the sound.  “James?” her mind questioned in disbelief.  Looking she saw the pale faces of James, Rose and Albus standing not three meters away!  “What?”  Confused, Ginny tried to stand, but couldn’t. She looked down and saw her hands and arms buried nearly up to the elbow in a white pillar…  Pillar?  Albus?  Realization suddenly came upon her—where she was, what the pillar was, what she was trying to do…  
          “NOOOOOO!” Ginny screeched.  “I won’t let you destroy them, I won’t!” she shouted at the pillar and heaved mightily with both her hands pulling back in sheer desperation. Ginny had to get rid of it before Albus reached the pillar!  It was the only way to save Albus!  She couldn’t let Tom Riddle destroy him or her family!  
          Like a cork coming reluctantly out of a bottle, Ginny’s hands slowly moved up and out.  Suddenly, with an explosive blast, Ginny felt herself hurled into the air landing in the ocean several meters away.  In her hands was the tangled twisted metal that was once the plaque.  
          A loud explosion occurred followed by a shower of small white stones landing upon Ginny like rain.  As the stones fell from above and the water washed over her Ginny felt a flood of other memories, memories not really her own…  
_“A little higher, Ginny.” Tom’s whispery voice commanded.  And Ginny fingers crept of their own accord further up the pillar.  “We need this at eye level,” he instructed, “and he’s taller than you—that’s it!  Those wizards think they are so much better than me,” Tom Riddle added with distain.  “They think they’ve defeated me!  I’ll show them!  I’ll show them all!”  And as Ginny’s fingers positioned the spidery design onto the pillar Tom made her lips smile with satisfaction._  
_“The first was practice—just to prove I could do it,” he reflected triumphantly.  “The second was for the balance I needed, and the third proved that even the great Dumbledore can not keep him safe.”  Ginny’s features frowned a bit as her fingers pushed the silvery web deeper into the pillar until only the barest of lines showed.  “The tree was further than I’d like,” Riddle reflected in annoyance, “but to come closer would have meant using her wand to break Dumbledore’s protective spells thus revealing the silly girl’s presence...  But this,” Tom whispered to the web that now seemed to blend seamlessly into the smooth surface of the pillar.  “This is my crowning glory!”  He made Ginny’s lips smile again and it wasn’t a very nice smile.  “The sunlight will catch the silver and the flash will attract the attention of everyone who enters Gringotts.  Every wizard will pay me homage by viewing it and then passing on as it never existed—except those with green eyes—and they’ll salute me and my genus before continuing mindlessly about their insignificant business!”_  
          Gradually, the flood of memories subsided.  When Ginny could again make sense of things she noticed a familiar shadow looming overhead.  
          “Are you all right?” came Harry’s concerned voice.  
          “Fine,” said Ginny smiling weakly.  She could just barely make out Harry’s features and the worry etched into his face.  Ginny looked down at the molten mass of blackened metal still clutched in her hands…  She hesitated and then opened her hands letting the metal drop into the ocean sinking from sight.  It no longer held any power over her.  “More than fine,’ she added, struggling to sit up.  Bits of stone tumbled out of her hair and into the water.  Harry’s face relaxed into a loving smile and he reached out to help her up.  
          “The children!” exclaimed Ginny suddenly and looking anxiously over at the beach.  She hadn’t imagined them had she?  
          “Children?” questioned Harry.  “They’re at the Burrow, aren’t they?”  His eyes followed Ginny’s to the beach—“What?!!!”  he exclaimed in surprise.  The column was gone; standing back behind the pit where it had been were James, Albus and Rose!  Pulling Ginny up the rest of the way Harry held tightly to her hand as the two made their way out of the water to the firmer sand of the beach.  
          “What do you think you’re doing here?!!!”  Harry demanded angrily as he and Ginny stopped in front of the three.  “You could have been killed or worse!”  
          James and Rose stared defiantly back at Harry.  Albus looked at them a little less defiantly.  Well, it was hard to look defiant when, as Ginny now noticed, his whole body was wrapped in sheets much like a mummy and the only part that showed was his face.  A skinny hand rested on either side of Albus’ waist holding him up.  
          From behind Albus poked the bald head of Kreacher.  His bat-like ears drooped and he looked both ashamed and fearful.  “Mistress ordered Kreacher to stay with Albus and keep him safe and away from the house,” he began apologetically, fearfully.  “And Kreacher did!” Kreacher cringed anyway in anticipation of Harry’s wrath.  
          “We ordered him to tell us where you were, dad!” added James in defense of Kreacher while meeting Harry’s fierce glare.  “We knew what you were up to,” he added boldly, “and when you left the house we knew it was time.  We told Kreacher to take us to you…”  
          “Albus has been having nightmares ever since he got to the Burrow,” explained Rose.  “Bad ones!  He needed to see it destroyed as much as you did, Uncle.  We made sure he wouldn’t be able to touch it…” she added proudly.  
          “Well,” said Harry his voice softening.  After all, everything had turned out O.K.  
          “Is it safe to release Albus, Master?” inquired Kreacher timidly.  
          Harry looked at Ginny; she smiled and nodded.  “Yes, Kreacher, I think it is,” replied Harry.  
          Kreacher straightened and smiled.  His ears rose happily as he waived his hand and the sheets around Albus disappeared.  Albus staggered a bit and then he and James ran forward to Ginny.  Ginny kissed them each and wrapped both of them with the warmest hug possible.  Harry’s arms reached out and encircled them all.  
          “All the precautions we took!” said Hermione from behind while hugging Rose.  “The spells and wards we put into this place to keep it secure and a bunch of kids use a house elf to waltz in bypassing everything!”  
          “I think,” said Harry dryly, “That we are very lucky Tom Riddle didn’t have children or a house elf of his own or his spells would have been much more difficult to break.”  
          Ginny laughed. It was good to feel free of his shadow.  
          “Everyone O.K.?” came Ron’s voice from the distance.  Ron and Neville were both walking up while Ron continued to talk.  “We let go when the column blew up and Harry changed di—Hey!”  Ron’s cheerful voice suddenly changed to alarm.  “What’re the kids doing here?  How’d they _get_ here?”  
          “We’ll explain later,” said Harry easily.  “After we get home.  We _can_ go home now, can’t we?” he inquired of Ginny.  
          She smiled.  “Yes,” Ginny agreed with an arm around both Albus and James.  Harry’s arm rested comfortably on her shoulder.  “It’s time to go home.”  And Ginny turned to give one last look at the beach.  The full moon still shone brightly overhead illuminating the ocean, waves and beach below.  The tide had started to rise and had already begun to cover the stones nearest the water’s edge.  Soon it would cover all signs of their visit—the hole created by the blast would fill with sand, the shattered remains of marble would blend in with the white sands of the rest of the beach and the fragments of crate and packing bits would be carried away to become some of the many pieces of driftwood frequently found upon the shore.  
          “There was a fourth plaque,” Ginny mentioned calmly while feeling the gentle wind on her face and watching the waves ebb and flow.  James and Albus froze in place.  Harry’s hand on her shoulder tightened instinctively.  “It was placed at Kings Cross station where you’d be sure to see it on the way to school the next year…” she added conversationally.  
          “What happened to it?” asked Harry, his voice low, no doubt to hide the tremor that was probably in it.  They all knew the plaque could not be there now, but as to its fate?   Was it still out there to haunt them all?  
          “I don’t know,” replied Ginny.  Harry’s grip tightened even more.  “It was gone when I boarded the train to return to Hogwarts after the Holidays that year,” she added matter-of-factly.  “He was terribly annoyed to have it removed so quickly.  It was only one of four, of course, so of little consequence.”  Ginny continued to watch the waves flow in and out, remembering.  “I got the impression he intended to do more research on what happened to it after he took care of you…”  The waves looked so peaceful and relaxing moving gently to and fro as they did.  
          “It was destroyed,” Ginny added softly.  
           “You sure?” asked Harry worriedly, his grip still tight on her shoulder.  
          “No,” replied Ginny honestly.  “But _he_ was.  He did some sort of magic to find it and when he couldn’t, concluded that it no longer existed…”  The waves continued to lap quietly back and forth upon the shore.  Bits of crate now marred the silvery smooth surface of the ocean beyond the waves and moved gently in and out.  The cool wind whispered meaninglessly in her ears.  
          Finally the grip on Ginny’s shoulder eased and Harry pulled Ginny, James and Albus closer as he spoke.  “Then we won’t worry about it,” he said calmly.  “Let’s go home.”

 

_THE END_

**—Epilogue —**

_January 10, 1993_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_  
_Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster_

_Dear Sir,_

_I am applying for the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts.  I realize this position is currently filled, but it is my understanding that Professor Lockhart considers his employment temporary while he is “between books.”  I hope you will keep me in mind when he decides to move on. I have enclosed a resume of my qualifications.  I believe my personal situation will provide students with unique and valuable insights into the workings of the Dark Arts.  As further proof of my abilities, I have also included an item of Dark Magic, which I recently detected and removed from the wall at Kings Cross Station.  It was not an easy item to remove especially from so public a location nor could I determine its purpose.  But I think you’ll agree that the names inscribed upon it are most disturbing.  I trust you will dispose of the item properly after your examination._

_Thank you again for your time and consideration._

_Sincerely,_

_Remus J. Lupin_


	30. Holly at Hogwarts, Return to Neverland Mid chapter 22:  alternate segment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this after I completed Holly and the Potter Wars. It doesn't mesh with the details of the Potter Wars so it doesn't fit with the series, but I still like it.

**Mid Chapter 22, another way...**

 

 

**“Expelliarmus!”**

          It was Holly who cast the first spell! She hadn’t meant to, but couldn’t help it. She had felt that familiar build up before a spell about to explode and had cast her own spell to prevent it. Holly didn’t cast her spell at the Dark Lord but at Pettigrew, whose silver hand clutched his wand tightly and aimed it unerringly in the direction of the Headmaster intending to strike him unawares from behind.  
          Pettigrew’s wand flew into the air and clattered off the ceiling. But Holly saw and heard none of that. Ignoring the sudden surprise she felt from both Lord Voldemort and Pettigrew, Holly immediately ducked into the trophy room crouching down as she did. A spell blasted swiftly through the trophy room entrance striking the wall just above Holly’s head. It caused the whole room to shake showering her with rubble. Huge chunks of wall flew about like missiles. Trophies toppled and trophy case crystal shattered loudly. Holly could hear the sounds of other spells blasting outside. A huge blast right outside sounded loudly sending vibrations through the floor and all around; the wall next to Holly seemed to creak and sag inwards. Holly crouched down even lower and instinctively threw up her arms protecting her head as the huge rocks that made the wall tumbled on top of her…

**********

          The “crack” echoed loudly on the third floor landing of Hogwarts as a house elf and a tall man with long graying black hair and blistered bare feet appeared. “Remember,” the man told the elf. “Not a sound; not a word; not one word out of you!” The elf nodded its head with obvious reluctance. “Stay here,” the man commanded, “and let me know immediately if anyone nears.” The elf nodded again. The man stepped off the landing and started down the corridor leaving behind bloody footprints as he walked. He stopped and stared in disbelief at the gaping hole and the mound of collapsed rubble, which once made up one wall of the trophy room. A low moan attracted his attention. The man walked over to the source. He looked with recognition upon a portly person with thin colourless hair and a pointed nose lying upon the floor between broken bits of masonry. The portly man moaned again and his eyes fluttered briefly while his silvery hand reached out towards a wand lying just out of reach. The eyes of the standing man hardened. He raised his wand, “Avada Kedavra!” he hissed fiercely. The man on the floor shuttered briefly and then became still.  
          The tall man turned away from the body without a second glance and approached a second figure he had spotted lying between and under the rubble. This person wore an emerald green robe. The man knelt briefly and checked for signs of life. Finding none, the man rose and directed his attention towards the trophy room and the larger pile of rubble that once was the wall that separated the corridor from the trophy room. Moving carefully closer, the man scanned the area for signs of others buried beneath the rocks, one person in particular. When he saw some dark blue between the rocks, the man hastened his step and began to clear the off the rubble on top. A motionless form was revealed bit by bit. Desperate fingers felt for a pulse. The man almost sagged in relief when he found one, weak though it was. “Kreacher!” he shouted. “Come here!” he added urgently. “Help me!” the man commanded when the house elf appeared. “We’ve got to get her out of here now!”

**********


	31. Chapter 31

          Daniel Pilkington Apparated to the front porch of his house. He used the invisible doorknob, stepped swiftly into his room and began to change. It was noontime. Daniel shared meals with his family whenever possible. Daniel would have liked to go to his office at Security to await the Non Head Count he felt certain would be called once Bellatrix’s body was identified. Daniel didn’t want his family to watch as his Slytherin superiors forced the Black Potion down his throat but could think of no way out of it. While Daniel periodically visited the dueling club, he was not in the habit of spending his weekends at the club or office unless ordered to do otherwise. Any change in routine would not only be noted, but questioned. Daniel did not want those kinds of questions; could not afford to call any special attention to himself.  
           Daniel had just finished putting his transfigured Security badge on his finger when his cell phone rang, vibrated, actually. Daniel drew the phone out of his pocket and stared at it while considering who might be on the other end. It was probably a survey report. There had been bewitched money left in the bag Roland had placed outside Grimmauld Place. It was not surprising to think that the “he” Roland referred to had eaten the sandwich and used the money found in the bag… It was also possible that the mysterious “he” was calling. The cell phone number had been included within the bag. Not obviously, of course, but in a way that the girl would be sure to notice... Of course, the stranger could have eaten the food, discarded the bag not recognizing the importance of the number, and a Muggle on the street had found the number and decided to call… Or it could be a trap. The Death Eaters had lost one of their own. They surely knew that by now. They could have found both bag and number and were in the process of checking out possible leads… They may have already captured the stranger, found the number on him and were trying the number in an attempt to identify all who would have offered the stranger help or assistance…  
           Daniel drew out his wand and whispered, _“Muffeliato.”_ Then he answered the phone: “Nicholson’s” he said in a professional sounding tone. “How may I help you?” There were numerous Nicholson’s pubs within London. None had this particular cell phone number nor did their menu items include the specific sandwich left in the bag wrapped within the paper bearing the Nicholson’s logo and “number.” But it would take a Muggle to know that. Nicholson’s was strictly a Muggle establishment and Daniel doubted any Slytherin had ever visited one let alone eaten there. The answer went with the number and should pass a casual Slytherin inquiry.  
           “She’s hurt!” came the worried voice on the other end. “Hurt bad!” Daniel drew in a breath. This was definitely not a response he expected. The average Muggle on the street would make inquiries about the standard Nicholson’s menu, a Slytherin investigator would not be so direct and the stranger, how did he know about the girl? Was it even the same girl? It had to be. Even though Roland had not mentioned a connection between the two, it was conceivable they had met; the girl was dropped off at Grimmauld Place and Roland encountered the stranger at the same area. But then what?  
           “If this is a medical emergency then you should contact a doctor, or the hospital nearest you,” said Daniel in a formal voice. “If you are unable to do that,” he continued smoothly, “you should contact Security at—” Daniel rattled off a series of numbers which corresponded to the Muggle Security number found on all the Security posters. “Good luck, and have a nice day,” he concluded and broke the connection.  
           Feeling suddenly weak, Daniel sat down on his bed and dropped his head in his hands. This could all be one very scary elaborate trap! How did the stranger know Daniel knew about the girl? What did he know about Daniel? Medical help was more than a sandwich or an extra pound or two slipped where someone who might need it could find. If the plea was genuine, how could Daniel hope to assist without compromising his position or the safety of his family?  
           The phone “rang” again. Daniel stared at it apprehensively. Same number calling. It would be safest if he let it ring and not answer, but what if not answering revealed that the number was not that of a pub giving the Slytherins reason to try to trace the phone back to Cedric and him? Reluctantly Daniel again answered the phone. “Nicholson’s” he said in his professional sounding tone. “How may I help you?”  
           “I don’t _Heal!”_ said the voice on the other end confirming that it was a wizard not a Muggle who spoke. There was a touch of hysteria and desperation to the voice. “She needs help, please!” the voice begged.  
           “I have sworn to uphold the laws which includes reporting all fugitives to Security,” replied Daniel softly giving up the pretense of being a pub employee, “and I _will_ keep my word.” The stakes were too high and there were risks Daniel simply would not take. Roland had mentioned the word “decades” in connection with the stranger. The world had changed considerably in the last few decades. Perhaps the stranger did not realize what he asked or how things worked so Daniel added, “If I _see_ someone I know is a fugitive, I will turn that person in.” Daniel emphasized the word _see_ in hopes the stranger would realize that the rules were different if a chance of uncertainty existed. He waited to see how the stranger would respond.  
           The phone was silent for several minutes before the voice spoke again. “The boy then?” it questioned. “He’s smart and has a good head on his shoulder. I _need_ someone!”  
           Daniel considered the question. He was fairly certain the request was genuine and no Slytherin trap. Roland had no certain knowledge the girl was a fugitive, if she indeed was, and there was no Alert out on the man or Roland would have recognized him as a fugitive... It would break no rules if Roland assisted. “The boy, then,” agreed Daniel. “Where?”  
           “Central London, a busy four-way street,” replied the voice. “You pick the corner and time, but soon!”  
           Daniel nodded. He picked a prominent corner not far from Roland’s house and asked “Fifteen minutes?”  
           “Fifteen minutes,” confirm the voice without hesitation. “Thank you.” And the connection ended.

**********

          Roland DeWitt plopped down upon his bed and opened the Security Code book. Usually he did not tackle his studying so eagerly but it had been a very difficult lunch with his family. His parents had noticed immediately that Roland no longer had his motorbike. They weren’t very happy when he told them what had happened to it. (“I gave it to some homeless guy with no shoes.”)  
           “If you want to help the Muggles,” his mother scolded, “don’t be so obvious! What if the Slytherins find out what you did? Do you think they want somebody in Security who is nice to Muggles?” Dad challenged Roland’s wisdom in the impulsive gift. He reminded Roland how hard he (Roland) had worked to earn the Muggle money (odd jobs in Muggle neighborhood) and buy the bike. How Roland could never hope to replace a Muggle contraption now that he was under intense Slytherin scrutiny. Dad went on to add if Roland no longer wanted the bike he should have sold it. He could have used the resulting money to assist several Muggles, if he wished, instead of just one. Besides, didn’t the Muggles regulate things such like bikes so how could a homeless man hope to drive it on the streets without getting stopped by Security and how could he afford to refuel it? Roland should think of such things before making such an expensive gift.  
           Roland wanted to tell his parents that the homeless man had most likely saved his life and the gift of a motorbike was the least he could do in return. He also wanted to tell them how he had actually _disarmed_ a Death Eater and what had happened afterwards and that he had used a Death Eater’s wand to undo some serious dark magic… but he didn’t, of course. Roland couldn’t tell his parents about any of that, didn’t dare; wasn’t even sure how much of that he should tell Wizard Pilkington but he would worry about that later. So Roland had done the only thing he could do, kept his head meekly down and answered “yes, sir,” and “no, ma’am” whenever it seemed appropriate. Studying the Security Codes was imminently preferable and much easier.  
           The cell phone in his pocket vibrated. Roland started at the sound. To his knowledge, only Wizard Pilkington had the number. Why would he be calling now? Then Roland relaxed a fraction. It was probably an update on the events of the morning… Roland drew his wand and whispered _“Muffeliato”_ before pulling out the phone.  “Yes?”  
           “Emergency Medical drill!” came the brisk voice of Wizard Pilkington. “Full pack,” the voice continued. “Be at the corner of — and — in fifteen minutes.”  
           “Sir?” questioned Roland dumbly.  
           “Are you questioning the orders of a Superior?” asked Wizard Pilkington, his voice hardening dangerously.  
           “Uh, no, sir,” replied Roland automatically. Technically, he was a Superior, but Wizard Pilkington had never before referred to himself as one, “but…”  
           “Then, get to that corner in fifteen, no thirteen minutes now. Full pack,” he reminded. “Await further instructions once you reach your destination.”  
           “Yes, sir.” Wizard Pilkington disconnected leaving Roland staring dumbly at the phone in his hand. He could think of no logical reason for a drill on top of everything else that had happened this day. But Roland was trained to obey without question and he trusted Wizard Pilkington. Roland put his phone back into his pocket, shut his book and reached into his Security locker at the foot of his bed. Wizard Pilkington insisted that Roland keep his Security supplies nearby at all times so he could be ready for anything at a moment’s notice.  
           “Full pack,” Roland mused. That meant medical supplies for both Wizard and Muggle injured. He grabbed both regulation Security medical packs and stuffed them into his backpack. Then Roland grabbed his smaller Non First Aide kit. It contained a variety of potions and remedies that were Slytherin approved for Non use without a Healer. Most of the contents were duplicated in his other medical packs but Wizard Pilkington had said “full” and that implied all medical materials Roland had at hand. Accordingly, Roland also packed his collection of Muggle first aide manuals and Wizard Healer texts, (required reading by Wizard Pilkington) not that he would actually need them. As an intern, Roland was not permitted to heal but he was trained in the use of potions and could act under the direction of a Healer. This was a drill so to complete the illusion of an actual medical emergency Roland was certain there would be someone on site playing the part of the Healer, or perhaps an actual Healer, to observe and supervise.  
           Hefting his bag and balancing a strap over his shoulder, Roland left his room and headed for the door. “Off on Security stuff!” he called out to his parents. “Don’t know when I’ll return,” he added as he raced out the door. The designated corner was near, but not that near. He would have to run to get there in time…

**********

          Roland reached the designated street corner with scarcely a minute to spare. Breathless, he stood at the corner and looked around. Nothing. It looked to be an average day. Muggles vehicles crowded the street, Muggle pedestrians passed back and forth about their business; a Security patroler flew by. Nothing out of the ordinary.  
           After catching his breath, Roland chastised himself for expecting otherwise. Hadn’t Wizard Pilkington said to “await for further instructions” once he reached his destination? It was only a drill, of course; they wouldn’t bother upsetting the Muggle population with an emergency scenario. The “emergency” was probably located inside one of the buildings… Roland wondered who would come to provide further instructions…  
           A Muggle motorbike pulled up next to Roland stopping on the side of the curb—not just any motorbike, _his_ motorbike!!! Roland would recognize the hum of his motor any day! In shock Roland looked at the rider. The person wore a helmet that covered his face and head but did not hide the tangled gray hair that hung down beneath the helmet. There was no mistaking the too short pants, or the raw burns that showed at his ankles. There were shoes this time, slip-ons that looked too big for his feet.  
           “Get on,” the biker instructed in an all-too-familiar voice.  
           “No!” exclaimed Roland instinctively while taking a step back. “I, uh.” Roland suddenly realized why he was on the corner… “You’ve got to go!” he told the man urgently. “Someone’s coming! It isn’t safe for you!”  
           “Fifteen minutes?” questioned the man without hesitation.  
           “Uh, yeah,” answered Roland reluctantly. How did the man know about that?  
           “Like about now?” the man asked pointedly.  
           “Yes,” admitted Roland uncomfortably.  
           “You know who you are waiting for?”  
           “No,” Roland confessed uncertainly.  
           “Get on,” the man repeated. Roland stared. Was this the “instructions” for which he waited? How could he tell? They were “instructions” of a sort, and at the right time… Then again… Anyone could guess correctly at a time. But how else would the man have known Roland would be on this specific corner at this exact time?  
           The man spoke again, “Please?”  
           Roland gulped. Slytherins never said “please.” Roland took a deep breath and nodded. Cautiously, he stepped off the curb and got on the bike behind the man hoping he was doing the right thing.  
           “Here,” the man said while handing Roland a helmet with a heavily tinted visor, “put this on.” Roland nodded and put on the helmet—he knew it was necessary to satisfy Muggle street rules… To his surprise, the visor was not just tinted, but totally dark! Roland couldn’t see out at all! “It’s better you don’t know where we are going,” the man said in Roland’s ear before he could object. Roland reluctantly nodded. He was probably right.  
           “Hang on,” the man commanded. Roland wrapped his arms tightly around the man’s chest and the motorbike took off.

 


	32. Chapter 32

          They sped through the streets at an incredibly fast speed turning this way and that. The tight turns reminded Roland of a ride on the Knight Bus though he knew that couldn’t be possible with a motorbike. He soon lost all sense of direction and settled for just not falling off. Finally the motorbike slowed to a stop.  
           “Stay here and keep your helmet on,” the man instructed as he helped Roland off the bike. Roland nodded his head in agreement and heard the receding sound of footsteps; the man had walked off. Presently Roland heard the soft murmur of a spell being cast.  
           _“That’s a ward!”_ he thought with surprise. Wards weren’t taught in school. “There’s no need to learn wards,” one of his professors had said in class. “Only criminals use wards…” Was the man a criminal? Roland didn’t know, not for sure. Actually, he wasn’t sure he was hearing a ward spell being cast having never heard one cast before but it was a good thing to cast when one wanted to maintain secrecy. Roland could always ask, but he wouldn’t. Ignorance was a Non’s best defense.  
           “This way,” said the man returning to Roland’s side. He took hold of Roland’s elbow and gently nudged him forward. “Don’t take off the helmet yet,” the man added as they walked. Roland let himself be propelled down a gravelly path, up some stairs and through a doorway, forward several more steps and a turn to the right. “Not yet,” said the man as he pulled Roland to a stop and released the elbow. “Keep watch outside and let me know immediately if anyone comes near!” the man suddenly ordered.  
           _“Huh?”_ Then Roland heard the distinctive _“crack”_ of someone Apparating. _“Who was that?”_ he wondered.  
           “Now you can take the helmet off,” said the man.  
           Roland took off his helmet and looked around. He was in a room with a window. In front of him was a cot with an empty chair next to it. And on the cot was— _the girl?!!_ Roland stepped closer to be sure. No, it wasn’t the girl he had seen at the station, couldn’t be; that one had had short hair and bangs. This one had long hair and no bangs. The differences were important. Roland knew that from his discussion with Wizard Pilkington. She looked a lot like the one on the Alert and the one on the train but Roland reminded himself it would take a Superior to determine if the similarities were more than a coincidence. Roland was glad there were no “Superiors” around. “Wh-what happened?” asked Roland aloud.  
           “I think a wall fell on her,” replied the man. “Beyond that, I don’t know…”  
           Roland reached out and checked her pulse. The pulse was weak, barely there. He cautiously turned the hand. No Muggle mark. _“Definitely not the girl from the station,”_ he said to himself with relief.  
           “Can you help her?” the man asked with obvious concern.  
           Roland gulped. “We should take her to a Healer,” Roland suggested softly while studying the girl. These kinds of injuries required a Healer not a medical assistant but Roland was certain that wouldn’t happen.  
           “Can’t do that,” asserted the man without further explanation. “You’re all she’s got. Can you help her?” he asked again, pleading.  
           “I’ll try…” agreed Roland knowing he couldn’t stand by and do nothing. He set down his bag and sat in the chair next to the girl. Then Roland opened his bag, reached deep in his Non First Aide kit and pulled out a small canister, a teapot and a bottle of water.  
           “What are you doing?” asked the man as Roland poured some of the water into the teapot and then set the bottle carefully aside.  
           “Making a pot of _Tea_ ,” replied Roland briefly as he carefully measured and then stirred some of the contents of the canister into the teapot. That should have been a sufficient answer for any proper Non, but Roland could see that the man wasn’t reassured.  
           “There was an assassination attempt of, You-Know-Who, while attending a Hogwarts game,” began Roland softly. It felt uncomfortable relating any of this to someone who was not a proper Non, so Roland kept his story just as it was found in the school texts. “You-Know-Who miraculously survived the attack unscathed, proof of his power and invincibility, but many of those nearby were not so fortunate. The healers worked all night and well into the next day tending to their wounds. As was proper, the Slytherins received treatment first,” continued Roland in a low voice. “The Nons sipped tea while they waited for their turn for treatment. _This_ Tea.”  
           There was more to the story, of course, the Non version of what happened, one not found in the texts. The Nons told each other how You-Know-Who was so angered by the attack that he forbade treatment of any sort be given to the Nons until after all Slytherins were completely out of medical danger. How the Headmaster had jokingly said to his Death Eaters companions that it was “uncivilized” to make the injured Nons wait unattended and ordered a nearby First Non to give them tea… And then, much to the amusement of the other Death Eaters, the Headmaster had insisted on personally escorting the Non to the “kitchens” to insure it was the Non, and Non alone, who made the tea, and made it “properly.”  
           But the Headmaster took the Non to the Potions room instead of the kitchen. He proceeded to mix a combination of herbs, leaves and powders and added boiling water to it. The Headmaster called the resulting mixture “tea” and ordered the Non to give it to the injured students every ten minutes until further notice. The Non diligently followed orders and when the pot was emptied went back to “brew” more tea. As the task was too much to complete alone, the Non organized other Nons to assist in giving tea to all the injured Nons. The Nons continued throughout the night ignoring the regular nightly lock-down rules telling the Slytherins they were under special orders of the Headmaster himself and would stop only upon his direct command. That command came only after the healers were permitted to treat the Nons.  
           “ _Tea_ always helps,” added Roland aloud. That’s what Nons said to the Slytherins who laughed when they discovered the inclusion of _Tea_ in every Non First Aide kit. Roland was relieved when the man didn’t press for further explanation. Roland drew out an empty potions bottle and a teaspoon from his bag while the _Tea_ steeped. He proceeded to transfigure the bottle into a small glass teacup. They could make do without the saucer. Roland poured some tea in the cup. Then he used the spoon to stir the tea until it was cool enough for her to drink.  
           “Hold her head up a bit,” Roland instructed when the _Tea_ was ready. The man complied lifting the girl’s head gently up. “Drink this,” Roland told the girl in a soothing voice while holding the cup to her lips. He used his free hand to open her mouth enough so he could dribble the _Tea_ inside and insure some went down her throat. It was easier said than done making Roland appreciate anew the efforts of that First Non (his actual name was never repeated or included in the story) who had persisted in following his orders.  
           “Now what?” asked the man as Roland carefully set the teacup and teapot down on the floor next to the girl.  
           “We wait,” said Roland calmly. He pulled out a small timer, a minute glass.  
           “How long?” asked the man.  
           “Ten minutes,” replied Roland flipping the timer that was preset for ten minutes.  
           “And then what” the man persisted.  
           “If she awakens, we’ll see,” said Roland vaguely.  
           “And if she doesn’t?”  
           “Another sip,” replied Roland firmly. “And another ten minutes.”  
           “What if she doesn’t awaken?”  
           “She will,” replied Roland confidently. He had never actually used the _Tea_ or seen its benefits. But they had all awakened that fateful night, though some much later than others. The Healers who finally arrived determined that the Non injuries were less severe than the ones suffered by the Slytherins and credited their survival to that fact. The Nons at Hogwarts _knew_ differently but they never corrected that assumption. Fearing an order to the contrary, they told the story of that night to each other in secret and insisted each Non learn to properly make “ _Tea_.”  
           Roland studied the man who intently stared at the timer before coming to a decision. He reached into his wizard bag and pulled out a small jar.  
           “What’s that?” asked the man as Roland handed him the jar.  
           “Skin cream,” Roland replied calmly. _Burn_ cream, more accurately, but Roland didn’t say that, not wanting official confirmation that the injuries he saw were burn related. “For your ankles,” Roland added nodding at the bare area between the man’s pants legs and the shoes that looked blackened and raw. It had to be very painful yet the man had not once requested medical treatment for himself. “You could, ah, go in the hall to apply it if you require privacy,” Roland suggested delicately. Roland was fairly certain the skin damage was much more than just at the ankles, the rest being covered by shoes and clothing but Roland wanted no proof. Proof would mean the man was more than an injured stranger in need of help. If Roland knew for certain the man was involved in the death of Bellatrix that morning he would have to turn him in…  
           “Ah, thanks,” said the man taking the jar. “I’ll be just outside. Let me know if she wakes,” he added limping over to the doorway. Roland nodded and the man vanished from sight.  
           Ten minutes passed. The girl remained still with no visible sign of improvement. Roland lifted the girl’s head, got some more Tea down her throat and turned the timer. Then he looked a bit apprehensively towards the doorway. Seeing and hearing nothing, Roland drew out his cell phone. After all, no one had said he couldn’t…  
           “Report,” came Wizard Pilkington’s worried voice.  
           “Some sort of wall collapsed,” began Roland in a professional sounding voice. This was supposed to be only a drill, after all. “Patient is an _unknown_ female, (slight emphasis on the word “unknown;” knowing Wizard Pilkington would know whom he meant,) school aged, unconscious, with a slow pulse and undetermined injuries.”  
           “Treatment?”  
           “I gave her some _Tea_ ,” replied Roland simply.  
           “How long ago?”  
           “Twenty minutes ago,” meaning two doses.  
           “Maintain treatment and keep me posted.”  
           “Yes, sir.” And he disconnected. Roland was relieved that Wizard Pilkington seemed to approve of his actions. Book and rote memorization was a lot different than helping an actual live person. In addition, Wizard Pilkington had been there at the assassination attempt and knew the effectiveness of _Tea_ first hand.  
           The last of the grains of sand dropped from the timer. Roland gave the girl more _Tea_ and then flipped the glass. The man returned a while later and handed Roland an empty jar. “Thanks,” he told Roland. His ankles looked much better though not totally healed. “How is she?” he asked looking down at the girl.  
           “I think she’s breathing better,” replied Roland tentatively.  
           The man peered at her closely. “Yes,” he agreed with obvious relief. “She is! Thank you!” the man added with feeling. “Thank you so much!”  
           “No thanks is necessary,” Roland replied automatically. “We help each other when we can.”  
           “Perhaps,” agreed the man looking at Roland with interest, “but I thank you anyway.” Roland nodded and returned his attention back to the timer. The sands slowly but steadily continued to drop. “We, uh, could talk about something to help pass the time,” proposed the man hesitantly after a while, “but I don’t know a safe topic...”  
           “Probably nothing,” replied Roland regretfully. Information was dangerous. A Non’s only defense was ignorance. Even casual conversation could reveal information that might be best to not know. “The less I know about you the better, or her,” Roland added as an afterthought looking down at the girl’s still form. There seemed to be a bit more colour in her cheeks. Whoever she was, she should have been in school, why hadn’t she? Did the man know? What was his interest in the girl? Roland sighed and leaned back in the chair. Questions he didn’t dare ask or have answered. He concentrated instead on mentally reciting chapter eighteen of the _Non Security Code._  
           An hour passed in relative silence. “You hungry?” the man asked suddenly after Roland flipped the glass once again. “I could get us some food…”  
           “Sure, uh, no!” replied Roland rapidly changing his mind. “Uh, I don’t think that would be a good idea,” he added, “I mean, I’m not hungry,” Roland amended quickly. If the girl from the train station had indeed gone to Grimmauld Place (not that she could have as she was clearly _not_ the same person,) but if she had been, Roland had figured of a way Wizard Pilkington could have known to send him (Roland) there as well…  
           The money tracking spell used by Security was nothing taught to Nons, but Wizard Pilkington was smarter than the way he looked and behaved around his Slytherin Superiors, much smarter… That bag with the sandwich the man had eaten probably had some money in it too, some very _special_ money… It was safe enough as long as he didn’t actually _use_ it…  
           “O.K.,” agreed the man without inquiring further though Roland could see all sorts of questions in his face.  
           Another hour passed. Roland made some more _Tea_ and let it cool while he waited. When the grains of sand ran out, he again lifted the girl’s head and shoulders. “Come on, drink up,” Roland encouraged holding the cup to the girl’s lips. He got the _Tea_ in her mouth and held her head back to help her swallow.  
           Suddenly the girl sputtered and coughed. “Stop it!” she commanded using an arm to weakly push the teacup away. “That stuff tastes ghastly, Roland!”  
           _Roland!_ Roland sat back in astonishment.  
           “Hey there, kiddo!” greeted the man warmly leaning forward into her line of sight. “How are you feeling?”  
           “Wha-what?” the girl said looking at him blearily. “Mr. Black?” she added in confusion. She swung her head over towards Roland. “Roland?” she said questioningly. _“NO!”_ she suddenly screeched. “Get away! Get away!” she added struggling to sit up and succeeding in falling out of the bed.  
           “Hey!” said the man, Mr. Black, catching the girl before she landed on the floor. “What’s wrong?”  
           “Security!” she screamed in panic struggling to break free from Mr. Black. “He’s Security! He’ll take me away! Take _us_ away!”  
           “What?” said Mr. Black in confusion while suddenly looking at Roland with suspicion. “No,” Mr. Black hastened to assure the girl—his voice showing none of the suspicion Roland saw in his eyes. “He’s not here to take you away! _Right?”_ he looked at Roland for confirmation. “He’s helping you,” Mr. Black continued when Roland didn’t answer. “He’s here to help!” he added. _“Right?”_ Mr. Black’s eyes seemed to pierce through Roland and the expression warned Roland that “help” was all he’d better do…  
           “Uh, yeah,” Roland managed to stammer. “I’m here to help,” he confirmed while swallowing nervously. The girl _knew_ his name! She could have known he was in Security had she been in the station and seen him, (which she wasn’t because that girl had to have been Muggle) but how did she know his name and know it without looking at him first?  
           The girl stopped struggling. “But why?" she asked. "How did he get here?”  
           “I brought him here,” replied Mr. Black. “You needed help and I couldn’t do it by myself. I swear, he’s not going to take you away,” the man added firmly. “I won’t let him.” And the look he gave Roland promised dire consequences if Roland tried… “He’s just here to _help!”_ Mr. Black repeated.  
           “Yes,” Roland agreed faintly. “Just help.”  
           “So _help!”_ Mr. Black hissed looking significantly down at Roland’s medical bag.  
           “What? Oh, yes! How do you feel?” Roland asked as he moved forward and assisted Mr. Black as he lay the girl back on the bed.  
           “What?” the girl asked in confusion.  
           “How do you feel?” Roland repeated. “Any pain?” Roland persisted when she didn’t answer. “I’m not a Healer,” Roland added. “I don’t have any diagnostic tools,” he explained. “I’ve got a medical pack but I don’t have the faintest clue what potions to use until you tell me your symptoms…”  
           The girl stared at him a long time with those green eyes before finally speaking. “Stabbing pains in my chest—all over,” she whispered. “Headache, pounding headache, blurry vision, stabbing pain in my left shoulder, arms and legs weak, thirst, hunger… What time is it?” she suddenly asked.  
           “It’s, ah, late afternoon,” replied Mr. Black.  
           “Noooo,” moaned the girl softly while Roland rummaged through the bag to get a spoon and a potion. It sounded like she had some broken bones and a concussion. He’d give her something for that, wait a while, and then see what symptoms she still had. “What happened?” she asked Mr. Black.  
           Mr. Black glanced at Roland and then said, “Why don’t we wait until after, ah, _Roland_ here finishes,” he suggested. “There’ll be time enough to talk later…” The girl nodded and looked at Roland expectantly. Mr. Black moved back to give Roland space and Roland measured out some potion.  
           “Here,” Roland said in his best bedside manner. “It’s for your broken bones,” he told her when she looked up questioningly at him. The girl opened her mouth and swallowed the potion making a face at the taste. “Another,” Roland persisted pouring out enough potion to fill the spoon again. The girl swallowed it without protest. Roland corked the bottle and returned it to his bag. She watched as he withdrew a smaller bottle, opened it and refilled the spoon. “Here,” murmured Roland holding spoon in front of the girl. She stared at him steadily without moving until Roland added, “For your head-ache and uh, vision,” he explained. The girl obediently opened her mouth and Roland brought the spoon to her lips. When she finished, he carefully corked the potion bottle and put it and the spoon back in the bag.  
           “Are you done?” asked the girl watching him.  
           “Not quite,” replied Roland. He picked up the cup of tea and brought it to the girl. “No,” she objected faintly.  
           “It’s just _Tea,_ ” he assured her. “I know it’s kind of cold and doesn’t taste the greatest, but _Tea_ is good for you and you said you were thirsty…”  
           “Drink it all,” put in Mr. Black. “I’ll vouch for the tea.”  
           The girl looked at him, rolled her eyes and then took the cup. Her hands shook as she held the cup. Roland kept his hand beneath hers to steady it as she drank the _Tea._  
           “That it?” she demanded.  
           “For now,” agreed Roland calmly as he set down the teacup. “I’ll have to check up on your progress later.” He turned the timer and lifted his bag as he stood and stepped towards the door guessing Mr. Black would want a private conversation with the girl. Mr. Black…wasn’t that the maiden name of Bellatrix? Were they related?  
           “Don’t leave the room!” Mr. Black commanded suddenly while sitting in the chair next to the girl. Roland nodded and withdrew to a far corner where he would be out of the way guessing Mr. Black’s trust in him went only so far now knowing that he was with Security. Roland sat comfortably on the floor, leaned his back against the wall and kept his head steadfastly down in a standard Non service posture—unobtrusive but ready to obey as commanded.  
           “So what happened?” repeated the girl to Mr. Black. Roland could hear her voice clearly—that meant Mr. Black hadn’t used the _Muffeliato_ spell. Hopefully, that meant they wouldn’t be discussing anything illegal. Surely Mr. Black knew what Roland would have to do if he overheard anything of that nature…  
           “The wall fell on you,” he replied in a low voice, but not so low that Roland couldn’t hear. “At least I found you under the stones.”  
           “The Headmaster?”  
           “Dead,” he answered softly.  
           _“Dead!”_ thought Roland stunned. _“That can’t be!”_ he protested mentally! The Headmaster was invincible, like You-Know-Who! If he were really dead, the loss was devastating! The Headmaster was a fixture in their lives. What would they do without him?  
           “Nooo!” the girl wailed with anguish. The grief seemed genuine and more than concern for the future of Hogwarts. Roland looked at the girl with surprise. He had never known anyone who actually _liked_ the Headmaster.  
           “Vo-Voldemort?” she questioned and looked fearfully over at Roland.  
           _“Who’s Voldemort?”_ wondered Roland as he looked at the two abandoning his head-down posture.  
           “Voldemort?” asked Mr. Black with surprise. “He was there?” She nodded sniffing.  
           “Well that explains a lot,” replied Mr. Black more to himself than the girl. “I didn’t think the _rat_ could do it!” He kind of spit out that last part.  
_“Rat!”_ thought Roland with shock. Was that a random choice of words or did he mean Caretaker Pettigrew? Pettigrew was an animagus rat! The fact wasn’t in the books and Roland wasn’t sure who knew it; he had found out by accident. As a first year, Roland was creeping down an empty hall one day while using the Disillusionment charm to avoid Slytherin harassment when the Caretaker suddenly rounded the corner and entered the same hall. Scarcely had he appeared when Roland saw the man shrink into the shape of a rat! Before Roland realized what had just happened, the Caretaker swiftly returned to his human shape and Roland found himself smashed against the wall with that cold silver hand of the Caretaker’s wrapped around his throat! “Tell no one of what you have seen or I will know!” the beady-eyed man had threatened. “I _know_ what lies behind the Chamber of Secrets, where it is and what it _eats!”_ he added menacingly. “Do you understand?” Roland had gulped and nodded in sheer terror. There had been no order, written or otherwise but none was necessary. Roland’s neck and throat felt frozen for months afterwards and he never once mentioned that incident certain the Caretaker would carry out his threat.  
           “I didn’t see him,” acknowledged Mr. Black. “So I guess he’s still alive... That means we haven’t much time,” he told the girl, his voice suddenly turning business-like. “The plaque’s still there, right?” he asked her. “I mean it wasn’t on that inside wall, the wall next to the corridor, was it? That’s the one that fell, you see.”  
           She sniffed and nodded.  
           “Great!” he said cheerfully. “As soon as you’re better we’ll just go back and—”  
           “She can’t Apparate!” Roland said abruptly from his seat near the wall. He had suddenly realized what Mr. Black was proposing. Mr. Black turned his head and looked at him questioningly. “She’s had too many potions,” Roland added explaining, “and the wrong kinds; they don’t react well with Apparating.” Splinching would be the least of her problems. “She needs to rest and fully recover before Apparating…”  
           Mr. Black thought that over a moment and then turned back to the girl. “Right,” he said clearly not discouraged. “Then I’ll bring the plaque here!”  
           “No!” protested the girl. “It’s too dangerous!”  
           “Naw!” said Mr. Black confidently. “They’d be only concerned with what’s in the corridor not in the Trophy room, if anyone’s even there now."  
           _“Trophy room! Headmaster! Caretaker? They must have been at Hogwarts!”_ Roland suddenly realized with shock. _“How did they get there? Why?”_  
           “What’s it look like?” persisted Mr. Black. “Where is it?” The girl buried her face in her hands. “Come-on, Holly, help me out!” Mr. Black added insistently.  
           “Back wall,” she finally whispered. “Heart-shaped with, with the name of,” she looked up and over at Roland fearfully, “your g-godson on it a-and G-his wife…” she finished.  
           “Gottcha!” said Mr. Black cheerfully. He stood. “You stay here and rest,” he told Holly. “Roland will watch over you, right?” he said easily and looked to Roland for confirmation.  
           “Uh, right,” affirmed Roland. Holly was in no real danger at the moment; it was just a matter of waiting for the potions to do their thing.  
           Mr. Black walked over to the wall and squatted down by Roland. He pulled out his wand, pointed it in Roland’s direction, looked at Roland straight in the eye and added, “And if anything happens to her while I’m gone,” he said in a whisper too soft for the girl to hear, “I will hunt you down like a _dog!_ Do you understand?”  
           Roland gulped nervously as he looked from Mr. Black to the wand beneath his nose, _Bellatrix’s_ wand. It was no idle threat and Roland knew it. “Yes, sir,” he assured Mr. Black, “I’ll take good care of her.”  
           “Good,” said Mr. Black. Then, he added in a louder voice as he pocketed his wand, “I knew I could count on you.” Mr. Black stood. “Kreacher!” Mr. Black shouted. “Come here!” Roland blinked in amazement as an old, dirty, near-naked house elf suddenly appeared. “We’ll be back soon!” Mr. Black told the girl confidently while taking the elf’s wrist.  
           “Wait!” she said suddenly. “You might need this!” Reaching under her shirt the girl pulled out something shiny and silver and handed it to the man.  
           He stared at it in surprise. “This is James’!” Mr. Black whispered with wonder in his voice as he fingered the silvery fabric. “I’d know it anywhere! How’d you get this?” he asked looking in disbelief at the girl.  
           The girl looked fearfully at Roland before back at Mr. Black. “D-Dumbledore,” she whispered.  
           “Dumbledore?” he said with wonderment? “But how?” asked the man echoing Roland’s private query as well. Roland well remembered the name but the person she had mentioned was long dead.  
           “He, ah, left it with someone to give to me.”  
           “Well, I’ll be!” said Mr. Black with open admiration. “That old fox had something up his sleeve for every occasion! I’ll make good use of this and bring it right back!” he assured the girl. With a practiced movement, he flipped the cloth over himself and the house elf. Roland watched in amazement as the two suddenly vanished.  
           “Take me to the trophy room,” Roland heard Mr. Black command. “ _Inside_ the trophy room near the back wall,” the voice further specified. _“NOW!”_ and Roland heard the familiar _“crack”_ of Apparation.

*********

          Roland stood stretching his legs and back as he did so. He walked over to the girl while staring in disbelief at the place where Mr. Black and the house elf had disappeared. _“I never thought of an invisible cloak,”_ he admitted silently recalling the scenario he had been assigned the day before concerning the incident at the station. “How do you feel?” he asked the girl. “Holly,” the man had said but Roland refused to call her that. The meaning of the squiggly green mark on the bag Roland had carried to the station and Grimmauld Place was all too clear now and the name connected her too closely with the bags, and the girl at the station who was supposed to be _Muggle_. Fortunately, there were too many differences for her to be identified as the girl described in Alert…  
           “Tingly,” the girl replied bluntly while watching him closely with her green eyes. “All over.”  
           “That’s just your bones healing,” Roland assured her. “Nothing to worry about. Lie flat,” he suggested, “and they’ll mend better.” He eased her body into a natural looking position. “That looks better,” he told the girl as he sat down in the chair next to her. “Now, close your eyes and try to get some rest. Let your body focus on healing and nothing else,” he suggested. “I’ll be right here should you need anything,” he assured her. The girl closed her eyes. Her breathing became slow and steady. Soon, she was fast asleep.

 


	33. Chapter 33

          Daniel Pilkington sat in his study reading the _Official Biography and Rise of the Dark Lord_. He was waiting for Roland’s next call while trying to figure out the identity of the person he had heard on the phone, who presumably, was now with Roland.  
           The survey call reported a tall man with scraggly long gray hair, no shoes and ill-fitting clothes who looked pretty much like a street bum. The man had exchanged the 10 pound note for coins and asked the whereabouts of the nearest telephone. Learning there was none nearby he had given the money to the Muggle for instructions and a chance to use the Muggle’s phone privately. That fit in with the urgency Daniel had heard in the man’s voice. In addition, the stranger had left leaving behind a set of bloody footprints—something Daniel had not expected.  
           Roland had felt safe enough to call indicating he was in no immediate danger and it was most likely the same person who had been at Grimmauld Place. Roland’s call had confirmed the medical urgency and that it was probably the girl Daniel had been unofficially tracking. (“unknown school-aged female”) Roland had mentioned “decades,” so Daniel figured a book recounting events that occurred “decades” earlier might be useful.  
           Though glowingly biased in favor of the Dark Lord, the book mentioned numerous names, both resistors and supporters as the Dark Lord rose to power. As he read each name, Daniel mentally recounted what he knew about the person and his fate or future. Supporters usually went on to high ministry positions; some died at the hands of “misguided” resistors who were later killed in revenge by a Death Eater or the Dark Lord himself. Opposition to the Dark Lord’s rise came in two basic categories. Those before the death of James and Lily Potter, parents of “the boy who had lived,” who were openly involved in the attempt to “suppress” the Dark Lord’s dream and vision, and those after the boy Harry Potter’s death, people who persisted in following a lost cause.  
           There were lots of possible names before and right after Harry Potter’s death. Most were wizards who were briefly mentioned as having opposed the Dark Lord but whose names never again appeared on any list either alive or dead. They were presumed dead but perhaps one of them wasn’t… Unfortunately, those names were of people either too old or just didn’t feel right as one that would have been kept prisoner for decades…  
           Daniel froze when he read the list of those who participated in the great Azkaban Prison Escape, an escape that signaled the end of resistance. Daniel recognized the names of the escapees; they were all listed as staunch Dark Lord Supporters. All had later been pardoned and rose to prominence in the Dark Lord’s new regime, all except one… Sirius Black. Daniel closed his eyes in an effort to remember what he knew about Sirius Black.  
           The Blacks were a prominent Slytherin family and strong supporters of the Dark Lord. Both Belatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy were from the Black family line. Sirius Black had been in prison for murder before the break-out and was actively hunted afterwards. Like the rest, Sirius Black was never recaptured but _unlike_ the rest, Sirius Black _never_ resurfaced, _never_ stood beside the Dark Lord in his ultimate rise to power!  
           Daniel stood and went to his wife’s set of legal books, a necessary part of her work as a solicitor. He pulled out a book containing court cases dating back over 30 years and rapidly found the transcript relating to Sirius Black’s trial. Sirius Black was convicted of mass murdering Muggles, big in those days but of no consequence today, and of murdering a wizard by the name of … _Peter Pettigrew!_ But Peter Pettigrew was alive! Sirius Black had been falsely convicted of Pettigrew’s death. Was he also innocent of the mass murder? Why hadn’t the convictions ever been overturned?  
           Daniel thought about what he knew of Peter Pettigrew. The wizard’s name was mentioned frequently after the Azkaban escape and he was currently the Hogwarts Caretaker. There was no mention in the Dark Lord’s biography that Pettigrew was ever supposed to be _dead_ or that fellow escapee Black had been convicted of his “death.” Daniel read the testimony further reaching the impassioned plea of the prosecution for Black’s conviction… The Prosecutor claimed Sirius was…a _Gryffindor_ who turned colors! He linked Pettigrew’s murder to the murder of James and Lily Potter claiming that Black’s betrayal of the Potters was all the more heinous because he was _godfather_ to their boy, Harry!  
           _Godfather to Harry Potter?!!!_ Daniel knew that Peter Pettigrew was not only alive but one of the staunchest of Dark Lord supporters. If anyone, it was Pettigrew who had done the murders and betrayal! A wronged Gryffindor with friends and a godson to avenge! He would have made a formidable opponent and stood by Dumbledore until the very end—had he been free to do so, had anyone known… But why keep him alive? Would the Black name be enough? True, he was a pureblood, but Sirius Black would have been an embarrassment to the Black family sorted into Gryffindor as he was and too dangerous to set free. Still, he was a close relative so they might have been reluctant to kill him…  
           The phone rang.  
           Daniel drew out his wand. _“Muffeliato”_ he whispered before answering the phone.  
           “She woke up,” Roland said bluntly in a low voice. Daniel breathed a sigh of relief. “She complained of stabbing pains in her chest, head ache and blurred vision,” Roland added briefly. “I gave her potion for broken bones and concussion and more _Tea_ … She’s sleeping now.”  
           “Very good,” replied Daniel formally. “Repeat the dose for the concussion and add a dose of Number Six.” The potions in the medical kits had no labels and were usually not referred to by name on the off chance a Muggle might see or hear… Number Six improved blood circulation. Circulation could be a problem if a lot of bones were healing yet the blood vessels and flesh nearby were not…  
           “Yes, sir,” answered Roland. “Sir?” he added in a tentative voice.  
           “Yes?” said Daniel warily. He tensed hoping Roland wouldn’t say anything that forced him to take official action…  
           “The Headmaster’s dead!” Roland said in a rush.  
           “The Headm—” repeated Daniel in disbelief. “How?” More importantly, “Who? Did the man…?” Daniel let his voice trail off not daring to ask further. A recently escaped Gryffindor on a murderous rampage was not inconceivable and a serious danger to them all!  
           “No,” came Roland’s voice firmly much to Daniel’s relief. “At least I don’t think he did,” Roland added more hesitantly, “or her,” he added as an afterthought. “I think it was someone named Voldemort.”  
           Daniel pulled the phone away from his head to hide the sound of his sudden strangled gasp! “You’d best forget that name,” he told Roland when he finally got his voice under control. If Lord Voldemort had killed the Headmaster, why? Did it involve the girl? It must! Somehow…  
           “Y-yes sir,” came Roland’s uncertain voice with the unspoken question, “Why?” behind it.  
           Unfortunately, that was something Daniel could not explain. “Is there anything else?” Daniel asked to distract Roland.  
           “They’re after something in the Trophy room,” Roland said finally. “A plaque, heart shaped, silver with the name of his, ah, godson on it…”  
           Daniel gripped the phone tightly. He had seen the item Roland mentioned and Sirius Black was indeed godfather of one of the names on that plaque... Daniel was suddenly very glad that no one had included the name of Sirius Black on the Security Wanted list. Mr. Black might still technically be an escapee from Azkaban Prison but without his name and description on an Alert, no one could expect Daniel to report Sirius Black’s name to Security.  
           Daniel had snuck in the Trophy room once with some friends. Kirby had found the plaque in question on the wall. He laughingly shined it up and then stared intently at it with his green eyes while he pressed his finger on the silvery surface before loosing interest. That should have been the end of the matter, except Daniel had noticed the surface of the plaque had turned dull again when Kirby walked away. The plaque Black was after was a piece of serious magic…  
           “Sir,” said Roland interrupting Daniel’s thoughts, “she knew my name!”  
           “What?” asked Daniel in confusion. He had been thinking random thoughts about the boy, Harry Potter. He had supposedly lived with his aunt and uncle in Little Winging before vanishing in the Chamber of Secrets; the girl had been picked up in Little Winging… What were the odds that an unknown girl originating from the same town as Harry Potter would find and connect up with the Harry Potter’s Godfather? They were after a plaque that bore Harry Potter’s name and attracted persons with green eyes… Harry Potter reportedly had green eyes, as did the girl… And there was a very old Alert out for green-eyed persons from Little Winging…  
           “I said she knew my name!” repeated Roland with a sense of urgency. “Without looking at me she knew me by name!” Roland explained further.  
           _“She had known about the book without looking, too,”_ remembered Daniel suddenly. What kind of witch did that make her?  
           Suddenly a loud “pop!” sounded in his ears. That was the sound of his _Muffeliato_ spell breaking. Someone had touched the door to the study! Terika or the children would never interrupt him without good cause. It could also be someone else… “Keep to our motto!” Daniel ordered swiftly before shutting off the phone and slipping it in his pocket.

**********

          Roland stared at the disconnected phone in his hand and then looked into the green eyes of the girl who was obviously awake. “What’s your motto?” she asked having clearly listened in on his conversation. Roland gulped and told her. She should have known it anyway. “I like it,” the girl said when he finished, “like it a lot.” She seemed much calmer than before.  
           “Uh, I’ve got to give you some more potion,” said Roland remembering his instructions. The girl nodded without objection. Roland reached into his bag, brought out the spoon and the specified bottles. “How are you feeling?” he asked when she finished the potions.  
           “Much better,” she told him serenely. “Thank you.”  
           “How’s your vision?” questioned Roland. “Any nausea or dizziness?”  
           “No.”  
           “Good. You should try to get some more sleep, though” Roland told her. “It’s tiring to heal.” The girl nodded. She closed her eyes and lay back down on the bed.

 


	34. Chapter 34

          “Is everyone all right?” asked Daniel in a rough scratchy voice. He got to his knees and surveyed his family. Physically, they all looked fine, though pale and shaken, as was usual after a dose of the Black Potion.  
           “Two days in a row!” whispered Terika as she rose to her feet. “What is going on?”  
           “They must be looking for someone,” replied Daniel neutrally. He fixed his eyes on his youngest son Aiden, who was within arm’s reach, and drew the boy towards him. Scarcely 5 years old, he was too young to take the Black Potion (who would want to morph down to that small of a size) but Aiden had still been made to watch while the rest of the family did… “I’m very proud of you,” Daniel told the boy while looking him straight in the eyes. “You kept your head down and didn’t make a sound the whole time. Keep your wits about you and you’ll go far.” He lifted the boy to Terika’s waiting arms.  Using Terika’s arm as an assist, Daniel stood and walked on shaky legs over to Dylan. The effort left him feeling incredibly weak. Daniel sank down to a crouch and looked at his son eye-to-eye. “Keep your head down when you get to Hogwarts,” he told his boy. “Don’t believe anything those Slytherins say,” he added. “Just be the best Non possible and look for ways to keep us all alive!” He hugged Dylan briefly and turned to Leila who stood next to Dylan. “Your mum told me you got a double dose of Potion yesterday,” Daniel whispered while giving her a tight hug. “A double dose is worse than worse,” he told her. “I don’t know how you managed. You are stronger than you know. Bend with the wind,” he advised. “Keep your scores respectably low; remember our motto and do great things to help us all.” Daniel stood and walked shakily over to Terika. She put her free arm around Daniel. Daniel hugged her and Aiden tightly. “Love of my life,” he said softly. “Where would I be without you? Remember where my will is?” he asked. She nodded. “I will love you always no matter what anyone says; keep the family safe.”  
           “Daniel?” Terika questioned worriedly. “You sound as if,” she broke off and then tried again. “What—?”  
           “They didn’t like my answers,” Daniel interrupted softly explaining. “They’ll be back for me to get those answers,” he assured her. “And they may not like what I say then. I don’t know when I’ll be back…” _If ever._

**********

          Five New Death Eaters had stormed into Daniel’s house along with Wizard Ollivander. Witch Bulstrode, and Wizard Malfoy had stayed in the entryway to guard the people they found while Wizards Goyle, Crabbe and Zabini had proceeded to search the house rounding up the occupants and herding them to the entry. Wizard Zabini had found Daniel in the study and ordered him to join the rest of the family. When finally satisfied there were no other occupants, the group had begun the Non Head count. They started with Daniel.  
           Daniel had complied readily to their order to relinquish the wand and provided the last spell used. That’s when the problems occurred.  
           _“Muffeliato?”_ question Wizard Zabini sharply. “Why _Muffeliato?_ What have you got to hide?”  
           “Security business,” replied Daniel briefly.  
           “What business?” questioned Wizard Malfoy. “You’re not on duty today.”  
           “Security business,” repeated Daniel calmly.  
           “That’s not good enough,” persisted Wizard Zabini. “I think you’re hiding something…  
           “Save it!” said Wizard Malfoy. “That’s Pilkington you’re talking to,” reminded Wizard Malfoy. “He’s a stickler for the rules. It probably _is_ Security related, even if it’s to order a new suit… If there was anything suspicious about him, they would have found it years ago.”  
           “Perhaps,” agreed Wizard Zabini thoughtfully. “Or perhaps he has just found a way to make the rules work for him… He was a Ravenclaw, you know… Look at me!” Wizard Zabini suddenly ordered. Daniel reluctantly raised his head and looked at Wizard Zabini’s face and the wizard stared back into Daniel. “Did you use this spell to conduct Security business?” he asked while watching Daniel’s every expression.  
           “Yes,” replied Daniel calmly. It was the truth, of course. It was also true that while Daniel followed Wizard Laws and the Security codes to the letter, he still kept to his motto and sometimes found ways to make the rules work for him… Daniel was certain the stakes were high but there was only one way left that Daniel could help without breaking the rules: provide _time_ … Perhaps it would be enough time to enable them finish what they had started.  
           Wizard Zabini suddenly waved his wand, _“Muffeliato,”_ he shouted. Immediately the sounds around Daniel became muted and quiet. “All right,” growled Wizard Zabini. “You have your privacy. Now I order you to _talk!”_  
           “About what?” asked Daniel.  
           “About that _Muffeliato_ spell you used!” replied Wizard Zabini impatiently. “What was it about?”  
           “Security business,” repeated Daniel stiffly.  
           “You still _dare_ to defy me!” snarled Wizard Zabini. “I _order_ you to tell me why you were using a _Muffeliato_ spell or suffer the consequences…”  
           Daniel dropped to the floor kneeling submissively knowing in advance Wizard Zabini would not be pleased with his response. “Security code section 1 paragraph 5 states that Security matters may not be shared or discussed with those not employed by Security—” Daniel began.  
           “Unless otherwise ordered by your _Superiors,”_ finished Wizard Zabini impatiently, “I know that law and I am your _Superior!_ So, answer the question!”  
           “Unless otherwise ordered by a _Security_ Superior,” corrected Daniel keeping his head so low it touched the ground. Normally he would never correct a Superior’s interpretation of the Codes but today he had to.  
           “Same difference,” said Wizard Zabini angrily. “Quit stalling and answer me!”  
           “It is not the same difference,” replied Daniel as calmly as possible. “While you are my Superior and a Death Eater who has the authority to carry out the orders of Wizard Security, you are not actually _employed_ by Wizard Security and so are not a _Security_ Superior. Therefore, I cannot obey your order.” It was a very fine line and some might argue that doing the bidding of Security was sufficient to constitute _employment_ … But not Daniel, and _not_ today. He would let a Security Superior make that decision. It would take _time_ for a Security Superior to be informed of the situation and make that decision.  
           _“Crucio!”_  
           The force of the spell seemed to rip Daniel’s insides apart. He screamed in pure agony unable to do otherwise.  
           “You split hairs!” Wizard Zabini whispered angrily in Daniel’s ear when Daniel was again conscious of his surroundings.  
           “Yes, sir,” agreed Daniel panting, “but a Non cannot presume to make a less specific interpretation…”  
           “You’re wasting time!” said Wizard Crabb impatiently breaking the _Muffeliato_ spell by moving near. He shoved Aiden under Daniel’s nose where Daniel could see his son. Wizard Crabb held him tightly by his arm. Aiden didn’t make a sound but his face was contorted with pain, “Answer the question,” Wizard Crabb threatened, “or see how well your family holds up to the Cruciatus Curse!”  
           Daniel gulped and fought to control his fear. That anyone would suggest using such a spell on a child… “Take me to Wizard Security Head Rabastan Lestrange,” he managed to croak out.  
           “What?”  
           “Take me to Wizard Security Head Lestrange,” Daniel repeated in a stronger voice. Only a true Death Eater could stop a New Death Eater, but only if he wished. “Security code section 1 paragraph 8 further states that any attempt to force a Security employee to break section 1 paragraph 5 shall be reported to Security immediately,” he explained. “I love my family,” Daniel added with passion, “but I have sworn to follow the Wizard Security Codes and I _will_ keep my word.”  
           “Are you _threatening_ me!” questioned Wizard Crabb dangerously.  
           “Forget it!” interrupted Wizard Malfoy. “Let’s finish this Head Count first. We can take care of him later. It was a stupid idea anyway!” he muttered to Wizard Crabb. “Pilkington let his wife sit in holding for days without turning a hair! He won’t say a word for his brats!”  
           _“Crucio!”_ It was Wizard Crabb who uttered the spell and for a second time, Daniel felt his body seem to rip into shreds. He screamed in pure agony again and again. When it ended, someone forced the Black Potion down Daniel’s throat before he had a chance to catch his breath and then cast the Cruciatus Curse yet again while Daniel was experiencing the effects of the Black Potion…

**********

          “Have you some food ready for dinner?” asked Daniel while he clung to Terika, his legs suddenly felt more than weak at his future prospects. He wasn’t really hungry and the thought of any food after a dose of Black Potion seemed positively revolting but the question was important to him. Terika nodded. “Good,” replied Daniel calmly with a sense of impending doom. “I rather fancy dinner with my family…” _one last time…_  
           They came for Daniel before the end of the meal. Three New Death Eaters barged in unannounced. Without a word they took an unresisting Daniel by the arm and Apparated him to Security Headquarters.


	35. Chapter 35

          “You wished to see me?” questioned a dangerous voice. Daniel had been dumped unceremoniously in front of the feet of Wizard Security Head Rabastan Lestrange. At least, the voice was right and Daniel thought those were the feet of Wizard Lestrange. Daniel knelt where he had landed and didn’t dare look up.  
           “Y-yes, sir,” quaked Daniel barely able to contain his fear. There were actually two sets of robes and feet in front of him and Daniel had a sinking sensation that the other set of robes belonged to those of the Dark Lord himself!  
           “Why?”  
           “ _Security Code_ section 1 paragraph 8,” said Daniel briefly assuming that the Security Head knew the contents of the Section in question. “I am reporting as required.”  
           “You believe someone has tempted you to break Section one paragraph 5?”  
           “Yes.”  
           “Explain.”  
           “Wizard Crabb suggested using the Crucio Curse on my 5-year old son, a pureblood wizard boy, if I did not answer his question.” Never mind the curses used on himself, threatening his family had gone too far!  
           “Is that true?”  
           “It was merely a suggestion that was never carried out,” came Wizard Malfoy’s voice from behind Daniel. “Wizard Pilkington makes too much of simple words…”  
           “Why did you not answer his question?”  
           “Section 1, paragraph 5, sir,” replied Daniel firmly. “I was engaged in Security business and could not discuss it in front of the people present…”  The silence that followed seemed to last an eternity. Would they let him live for following the code to the letter or rip him physically and mentally to shreds for defying a Superior?  
           The icy calm voice finally spoke. “Your report is noted. You have my permission to answer the questions put to you including those that pertain to Security business…”  
           “Yes, sir.” Daniel breathed a sigh of relief. He was still alive. That was something.  
           “Answer all questions fully,” ordered a whispery new voice, one that sent shivers through Daniel’s body. He knew that voice! He’d heard it while at school. The Dark Lord was indeed present!  
           “Y-yes, sir,” answered Daniel fearfully and lowered himself further still on the floor never once raising his head. It would be difficult talking from the floor, but Daniel would not move without a direct order otherwise and knew he could think better if he didn’t have to face those in front of him...  
           “Why were you using a _Muffeliato_ spell off duty?” came Wizard Zabini’s voice.  
           “Security Intern Training,” replied Daniel promptly.  
           “You refused to speak because you were tutoring an Intern?” repeated Wizard Zabini in disbelief.  
           “Yes, sir. Security Regulations do not permit Non Security Intern training while on duty so it must be done after hours.” Daniel was on firm footing here. “I regularly assign extra work to all Non Security Interns to insure they receive the best chance possible at passing Security requirements. Interns often have questions about the nature of Security work and their employers. I cannot risk any of that being overheard by anyone outside of Security.”  
           “There were no Non Interns at your house,” stated Wizard Malfoy.  
           “No, sir,” agreed Daniel. “Besides reviews, tests, and drills, I assign exercises in the field— observations, navigation, surveys, surveillances and such—to more approximate what might happen during the Security Practical exam and after employment. I monitor these exercises periodically throughout the day. Then I critique the experiences and assign follow-up work in the evening.”  
           “You sent a Non Intern out into the field for exercises?”  
           “Yes, sir.”  
           “Which one?”  
           “Intern Roland DeWitt,” said Daniel without hesitation. There was no reason to hide his name. They probably knew it already, knew he was out on Security business.  
           “Intern Roland DeWitt turned up missing in the Non Head Count,” informed Wizard Malfoy.  
           “I am not surprised,” replied Daniel calmly. “He’s been out on a field exercise since early afternoon.”  
           “You knew he’d miss the Count and said nothing?” accused Wizard Zabini.  
           “I did not know he’d miss the Count,” Daniel corrected. “Head Counts are not announced in advance and I cannot predict the future. The Head Count was not complete when you left my residence and I had no way of knowing whether or not Mr. DeWitt would be counted.” Daniel waited apprehensively. What would they say and/or do next?  
           “You have not answered fully,” hissed the voice of the Dark Lord.  
           “Sir?” questioned Daniel.  
           “Where is Mr. DeWitt?”  
           “I do not know,” replied Daniel promptly. “I sent Mr. DeWitt to the corner of ------- and --------. He was to select a target and stay with that person until otherwise ordered.” More or less. “He could be anywhere at the moment, but I assure you that Mr. DeWitt is no Runner, has done nothing criminal and will report to the location of your choosing to be Counted.”  
           “And this morning?”  
           “What?” Daniel asked disconcerted by the change in topic.  
           “Did you send Mr. DeWitt into the field this morning?”  
           How did they know...? Of course! They would have done a full investigation of Roland’s activities the moment he turned up missing. “Yes, I did,” admitted Daniel readily. Roland probably left some sort of word when he took off in the morning and his parents would have told the authorities whatever they knew when questioned.  
           “Where?”  
           It was tempting to hedge or place Roland somewhere other than where he had been, but Daniel resisted the idea. Daniel also had no idea what the investigation had turned up. If he were caught in a lie, the consequences would be fatal. They could easily rip through his mind to obtain the information they wished but they hadn’t. As long as they didn’t, Daniel had a chance to tell things _his_ way, embellished a bit here and there, but without the guesses and suspicions that could make things worse. Besides, a person with nothing to hide would have no reason to dodge the question, no reason to hold back...  
           “I sent him to Grimmauld Place,” Daniel admitted boldly. He heard a collective gasp from the people behind him but _not_ from those in front. They must have already suspected or known Roland had been there.  
           “Why?”  
           “Why?” Daniel thought rapidly. “Because it is a Muggle location,” he answered remembering his original confusion when the tracking spell had placed the girl there. “There are no wizard businesses or residences there,” Daniel added explaining. “It’s a safe location for Non training practice with no risk of interfering with other wizard activities.”  
           “And how did the training go?”  
           Another opportunity to deny knowledge of, or involvement in the events of that morning… Daniel did not take the bait. He had committed to a path of action and intended to follow it through to its end. “It was a bust as a training,” confessed Daniel quickly. As training, it had been. Roland hadn’t even seen the girl!  “Mr. DeWitt needs a lot more practice.”  
           “Oh?”  
           “Yes.” Daniel took a deep breath. Here goes— “The exercise had to be cancelled after Mr. DeWitt reported some crazy story about Madam Lestrange being killed by a dog…”  
            Another collective gasp, but again, _not_ from the Dark Lord or Wizard Lestrange.  
           “And you told no one?” whispered the Dark Lord.  
           “Of course not,” replied Daniel righteously. “The story is rather far-fetched,” he added explaining. “Why would Madam Lestrange be in a Muggle area, and how could one of the most powerful witches in the land be killed by a common dog? Even if it were true, it’s not a murder, not in the regular sense. Whom should I notify, Animal Control?”  
           “Her husband?” suggested the Dark Lord softly.  
           “Me?” questioned Daniel. “It is not permitted. “A Non may not speak to a Superior without being spoken to first, nor disturb a Superior without good cause,” Daniel added quoting the _Non Code of Proper Behavior Handbook_. “I would never consider bothering the Minister of Magic with such a wild story!”  
           “Didn’t you believe the story?”  
           “I believe all stories told me,” replied Daniel firmly, “but the standards I must use before informing a Superior are far stricter. This particular report came from a Non, a _student_ Non at that, which makes it a questionable source at best. I checked with Security and learned there were _two_ unidentified bodies reported at Grimmauld Place and no mention of a dog. Mr. DeWitt only spoke of _one_ death. That is an inconsistency which makes Mr. DeWitt’s account inaccurate. Where there is one inaccuracy, there is probably more, perhaps the whole story…”  
           “You did not investigate further?”  
           “No. I am not permitted to make investigations outside my regular scope of duties without a direct order and I did not have enough information to disturb a Superior to get that order. Besides, Wizard Security does not need my help to identify bodies, determine cause of death or make the proper notifications. Should it turn out, however unlikely, that Madam Lestrange has actually died and the cause was apparently some animal, only then would I bother a Superior with what I have heard and make certain Mr. DeWtt report to appropriate authorities.”  
           “To whom has Mr. DeWitt told his story?”  
           “As far as I know, only me,” replied Daniel. “It happened while he was engaged in Security Business...”  
           “And you have made sure Mr. DeWitt has had no opportunity to talk to other Security Employees,” added Wizard Lestrange shrewdly.  
           “Yes,” agreed Daniel welcoming the excuse. The Dueling Club and subsequent second field trip did look that way… And it was something Daniel might have done if he wasn’t already certain Roland would keep silent. “Mr. DeWitt knows the rules, of course, but he is only a Non Intern after all,” Daniel added in a dismissive tone. “A slip of the tongue at the wrong place or time could cause widespread panic among the wizard community. The activities I assigned removed Mr. DeWitt from temptation and kept his mind off other matters…”  
           “So it would,” agreed the musing voice of the Dark Lord. “I presume you have some means to contact Mr. DeWitt?”  
           “Yes, of course,” agreed Daniel readily. He had known they would eventually ask that question. “It’s Muggle, though,” Daniel added in a more reluctant tone. He hated revealing the Non use of Muggle technology usually considered beneath Superior notice but it couldn’t be helped. “The Intern exercises are usually conducted in a Muggle area and a Muggle form of communication attracts less notice should the communication be observed by other Muggles…” Daniel continued explaining.  
           “Of course,” purred the voice of the Dark Lord. “It is time you contacted Mr. DeWitt.”  
           “Yes, sir,” replied Daniel tonelessly.  
           “I shall tell you what to say…”  
           “Yes, sir,” replied Daniel aloud carefully keeping all emotion out of his voice while hiding the fear he felt. No one had denied Daniel’s “dismissive” account of Bellatrix’s death. Had Daniel ever thought that report false, he did so no more. Daniel reached for the phone in his pocket. The Dark Lord would interrogate Roland for all the details of Bellatrix’s death and then exact revenge against those responsible. He would go after the “dog” of course, if it was a dog, and then turn his attention towards the “witness,” who had used the _“Expelliarmus”_ spell… Sirius Black had figured out the phone number on the roast beef wrapper. Daniel hoped he was smart enough to find a way to save Roland.


	36. Chapter 36

          A loud “THwump” sounded in the hall beyond the door. Startled, Roland drew his wand and went to investigate. The hallway was filled with a tall line of huge gray stones???  
           “We did it!” came Mr. Black’s cheerful voice. Roland saw him standing on one side of the line and the house elf on the other. “Took the whole wall!” he said with satisfaction to Roland’s questioning look. “Couldn’t risk ruining the spell,” he added by way of explanation.  
           _“Spell!!! What spell??”_ thought Roland with shock.  
           “Don’t know what’s left of the Trophy room, though,” Mr. Black added thoughtfully. “But that won’t matter for long… How’s Holly?” he asked Roland.  
           “Better,” replied Roland. _“What was going on???”_  
           “Stay here!” Mr. Black ordered the house elf sternly and then went into the room. Roland followed.  
           “Hey, Holly,” said Mr. Black cheerfully. “I’ve got it! You ready to leave?”  
           The girl regarded him silently with those big green eyes. “No,” she said in a soft whisper.  
           “No?” he frowned in surprise. “Not well enough yet? Well, we can wait…”  
           “No,” she said more firmly. “I’m not going.”  
           “Huh?”  
           “He’s dead!” she told Mr. Black.  
           “No, he’s not,” argued Mr. Black. “You told me so yourself!”  
           “Not him,” replied the girl. “Vernon!”  
           “Who?”  
           “My brother, Vernon!” she added explaining. “It’s been too long. Ravindra said he could still be alive, but she’s a witch and Vernon’s not, not—he’s dead,” the girl added with finality.  
           _“Not what?”_ wondered Roland. _“Not Wizard???”_ he added filling in the blank. _“That couldn’t be!”_ But Roland couldn’t discard the idea. _“If this brother of hers was not a wizard, then he had to be a Muggle! That made the girl a Mudblood! With no mark! Impossible!”_  
           “But—” began Mr. Black.  
           “He’s dead!” repeated the girl with finality. “I can’t go back to my parents without Vernon and he’s dead! I just can’t face them!”  
           Roland rapidly reviewed everything he knew about Security rules and regulations and what Wizard Pilkington had said about following those regulations. _“She’s got no mark! She can’t be a Mudblood no matter what she says,”_ he told himself. _“She’s been ill and most likely delusional. A Non’s word alone can never be trusted."_   How many times had he heard his Slytherin Superiors say that? _"Therefore, how can I, a mere Non Intern, be expected to take her words seriously?”_ But he did. And that was the scariest part.  
           The phone in his pocket suddenly vibrated. Roland jerked in surprise at the sensation. “It’s ah, my phone,” Roland said self-consciously, suddenly aware that both Mr. Black and the girl were looking at him.  
           “May I?” he asked indicating the phone in his pocket.  
           “Only if I can listen in,” replied Mr. Black as he drew out his wand. Roland nodded and he drew the vibrating object out of his pocket. “Tell him nothing,” Mr. Black instructed warningly. “Nothing!”  
           Roland nodded again. He pressed the speaker button and held the phone out away from his ear.  
           “Report,” came Wizard Pilkington’s calm clear voice.  
           Roland looked questioningly at Mr. Black. “Nothing!” the man mouthed silently.  
           “Uh, situation unchanged,” replied Roland vaguely. He wondered what Wizard Pilkington would make of that response.  
           “Very well!” came Wizard Pilkington’s voice. “Return home immediately,” he told Roland. “I’ll be waiting.”  
           “Yes, sir,” replied Roland. He cut off the connection and slipped the phone back into his pocket. “I’ll, uh, be going now,” Roland told Mr. Black as he walked over to his bag.  
           “He usually call you first, or the other way around?” questioned Mr. Black.  
           “I usually make a report when it’s safe but that’s not to say he couldn’t if he wanted to…” answered Roland thoughtfully as he took his wand and aimed it at the teacup.  
           “There any outside reason to call you in like a curfew or something?” Mr. Black persisted.  
           “No,” replied Roland after he transfigured the cup back into a bottle.  
           “So that kind of makes me wonder why he called and ordered you back…”  
           Roland shrugged. “It’s probably for a good reason or he wouldn’t do it.” Roland tucked both bottles back into the Non pack and closed up the bag. “I’m ready,” he announced standing up. “You can drop me off where you picked me up,” he told Mr. Black. “Where’s the helmet?” Roland added looking around.  
           “But is it _his_ reason or someone else’s?”  
           “Huh?”  
           “You recognize the voice, Holly?” Mr. Black asked while not taking his eyes off Roland.  
           “Yes,” came a firm reply. Roland looked at the girl with surprise. Was it possible that she and Wizard Pilkington had met? That would mean…  
           “He a Non?” Mr. Black’s question interrupted Roland’s train of thought.  
           “Yes.”  
           “He in the same profession as Roland?”  
           “Yes.”  
           “That’s what I thought. He practically said as much when I called but I was thinking of other things at the time… Security Nons are a bit of a curiosity among the Death Eaters,” continued Mr. Black in a conversational tone. “They are known for their absolute unquestioning obedience and strict adherence to the rules. Basically, the Death Eaters think they are a bunch of cowardly paper-pushers trying to curry favor to keep alive but I’m not so sure given what that voice there has been able to do right under their noses…”  
           “He’s Ravenclaw,” put in the girl, “or at least his daughter is, or was or would have been…” her voice trailed off uncertainly.  
           _“Ravenclaw!”_ thought Roland with shock. _“There are no Ravenclaws!”_  
           “I figured,” went on Mr. Black. “He’s careful, that one; he’ll split hairs when possible but won’t cross the line, won’t break the rules for any reason… He in the habit of waiting for you at your house?” Mr. Black asked Roland suddenly.  
           “No,” Roland answered frowning. “That is unusual. It’s probably just to save time… I’ll ask when I see him...”  
           “Yeah,” drawled Mr. Black. “About that—I don’t think I can let you go…”  
           “What?” said Roland in disbelief. “You can’t mean to hold me against my wishes?”  
           “If I must,” said Mr. Black in a deadly serious tone. Roland looked at him in surprise and saw Mr. Black’s wand pointed directly at him! “I have to,” Mr. Black added almost apologetically. “You helped us out and I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try to return the favor. Your wand please?” he ordered. “It’s for your own good,” he assured Roland.  
           Roland stared at that steely expression and reluctantly pulled out his wand. “I don’t understand,” protested Roland as he handed his wand to the man... “I won’t say anything.”  
           “Unless ordered,” put in the girl. “That’s what _he_ said…”  
           “Well, uh, yeah,” admitted Roland, “everyone knows that but only if they ask…”  
           “I’m not worried about what you’ll say,” Mr. Black said as he tucked Roland’s wand into his belt, “at least not about us. We can move as soon as you leave—but I still can’t let you go… You see, I think he was _ordered_ to say that…”  
           “Huh?”  
           “I did a bit of snooping while Kreacher was cutting the wall,” said Mr. Black in a conversational tone. “There was a Head Count,” he informed Roland bluntly.  
           “There was?” said Roland blankly.  
           “Yes. The folks at Hogwarts seemed to think it was because of the Headmaster. I’m not so sure of that, but no matter. What happens when someone misses a Head Count?”  
           “Uh, they question everyone who knows anything about the missing person.”  
           “Including the person on the other end of the phone?”  
           “Probably…”  
           “And what happens to the “missing” person once they find him?”  
           “He gets questioned as to his activities during the day and why he missed the Count.”  
           “That’s what I thought—during the day, the _whole_ day, not just the time of the Count. You missed the Count,” Mr. Black reminded Roland bluntly. “I think the man on the phone was _ordered_ to say what he said and they’re waiting for you at your house. They’ll haul you off to Security headquarters for questioning as soon as you show up and given what’s gone on today, you’re not going to be questioned by some bored Security official, Roland. You’ll be questioned by the best and there’s no way they won’t find out what happened this morning, _everything_ …”  
           “What?” That had happened so long ago, Roland had nearly forgotten…  
           “What happened this morning?” questioned the girl.  
           “Nothing that affects you, Holly,” replied Mr. Black dismissively. “I know you didn’t mean to, but that won’t matter to them,” he added addressing Roland. “They’re not going to let you live after they find out your part! If you’re lucky, they’ll make it quick, but knowing Voldemort, he’ll finish what _she_ started!!”  
           Roland felt the blood drain from his face at the thought. “Wh-who’s Voldemort?” he questioned faintly knowing the answer could not be good. Wizard Pilkington had told him to forget the name but Roland couldn't help but ask.  
           “You know, the Dark Lord,” answered Mr. Black promptly.  
           “You-Know-Who,” put in the girl helpfully.  
           What blood that remained in Roland’s face froze with terror! His knees suddenly weakened, stars flew before his eyes and Roland would have fallen had not Mr. Black suddenly reached out, seized an arm and guided Roland into the chair. How could he have known!  They had spoken his name so casually in front of him!  
           “You can stay with me, if you like,” Mr. Black offered kindly. “It’s safer than going back especially after they put you on the wanted list. But if you insist on returning I won’t stop you. Just give me time to figure out a memory charm strong enough to erase the events of today, one that can’t get reversed. That may keep you alive, but they’ll never let you stay in Security with a memory gap.”  
           Roland stared blankly at the wall in front of him. His whole world vanished in front of him. He was no Runner or fugitive, had never wanted to be one, didn’t know how, but now… How could he? What was left?  
           “Lookit Holly,” the man continued turning his head and speaking to the girl. “I know you’ve had a rough time and you’re hurt and scared. Yes, the Headmaster’s dead, and it’s too late for me, honest, and, maybe it’s too late for your brother, but it’s not too late for Roland… Or that girl Ravendra.”  
           _“There’s a Mudblood fugitive named Ravendra,”_ remembered Roland absently. The rest of Mr. Black’s words seemed to wash over Roland without meaning.  
           “Look at him!” insisted Mr. Black. “You _know_ him! You know what he should be, what he is, was—could become, and now! There’s hundreds others out there like him, maybe thousands—more if you count those who have died. If there is truly a way to change things how can you be so … _selfish_ as to let the simple fear of facing your parents stop you? How can you ... _condemn_ Roland, condemn _all_ of them to, to _this?”_ Mr. Black waved an arm expansively around the room. The girl started to sob. He reached over and held her while she cried.  
           “Hey,” Mr. Black said encouragingly when her tears finally subsided, “it’s going to be O.K. I know it!” he told her. “You want to know how I know?” he asked. “Look at what I found in the rubble,” Mr. Black said eagerly without waiting for a response, and he pulled out a honey coloured wand. “It’s Lily’s,” he told her excitedly. “His mum’s! Did you know that?” He handed the wand to the girl. “You did!” he added in surprise as he watched her place the wand in some sort of case she wore at her waist. “Lily’s wand and James’ cloak,” Mr. Black said while pulling out and handing her that silvery cloak. “It’s like his mum and dad are right here besides me begging you to save their boy. And if you look after him, I know they’ll take care of your brother for you! I just know it!”  
           The girl gulped loudly and nodded her head. She sniffed and tucked the cloak under her shirt. “I’m ready,” she told Mr. Black softly and swung her legs over the edge of the cot. Then she looked over at Roland with her tear-streaked face. “It’s going to be O.K.,” she assured him as Mr. Black helped her to stand. Roland didn’t see how that was possible… The two of them walked towards the doorway and the hall beyond.  
           Numbly, Roland rose and followed. _“Lily and James,”_ Roland mused absently as he walked. Those names together were familiar somehow but Roland couldn’t quite place them.  
           Mr. Black walked the girl to the center of the wall. The house elf was polishing something on the wall, something small and silvery at about eye level: the plaque. It was too small for Roland to clearly see so he moved up closer behind the two. The house elf stepped silently aside as they neared.  
           “Send my love to Harry,” said Mr. Black as the girl stretched out a hand towards the plaque.  
           _“Harry?”_ Roland’s eyes flew open wide, suddenly remembering where he had heard the other names. _“Harry Potter?”_ he questioned, _“but he’s dead!”_  
           The girl touched the plaque and vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, on to chapter 23... Hope you enjoyed this little interlude of what else might have been...


End file.
